


A mere Token

by stilinskisoul



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, De-Aged Characters, Derek is not so sour, First Time, Little Fluff, M/M, Peter is not necessarily related to Derek (you can decide about their relation on your own), Thomas doesn't look like Dylan O'Brien (Stiles does), the Keeper of the Runners is not Minho, the Leader is not Alby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2158941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisoul/pseuds/stilinskisoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets stuck in the Maze. After enlightening him about how life works there and hearing about all the jobs, he immediately knows he wants to be a Runner. He knows that's the most fitting position for him. However, he needs the approval of the Keeper of the Runners to fulfill his dream. But the Keeper scares him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A mere Token

**Author's Note:**

  * For [artlover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artlover/gifts).



> I decided to give this work for the amazing _artlover_ , because she's awesome, unbelievably sweet, gave me support, was excited about this story a lot, and a literal angel walking around on the surface of Earth. I can't express how grateful I am for meeting her on this website, really. I hope this story won't be a letdown not only to her, but anyone who reads it (and knows both series).
> 
> Unbeta'ed, I own all mistakes.
> 
> Also, I'm putting some pictures here, because the characters here are younger, and this is how I imagined them to look like, being a little de-aged:  
> [Stiles](http://33.media.tumblr.com/1f207ef9c87edcfe257605ac61889904/tumblr_n76o7zmBwy1qm8jfmo1_500.gif) (16)  
> [Derek (gif)](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mdamoq4V0X1qka2mgo1_250.gif) [Derek (jpg)](http://www.teenidols4you.com/blink/Actors/tyler_hoechlin/tyler_hoechlin_1280573085.jpg) (18)  
> [Jackson](http://lh4.ggpht.com/_b3K38tsecac/S2CdqYqeaII/AAAAAAAAnCE/akxBHOlCZU4/Colton%20Haynes-034.jpg?imgmax=640) (15)  
> [Peter](http://www.articlesweb.org/blog/wp-content/gallery/ian-bohen-best-known-for-his-acting-as-young-hercules/ian-bohen-9.jpg) (19)  
> [Twins](http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/58/42/17/584217248c4896d58d30b07a9f25cef3.jpg) (17) ( _without_ the flower crowns)  
> [Isaac](http://images5.fanpop.com/image/photos/31800000/young-Daniel-Sharman-in-Judge-John-Deed-daniel-sharman-31821107-245-140.gif) (15)  
> [Scott](http://www.positive-entertainment.com/interviews/images/tyler3.jpg) (15)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> UPDATE: After watching the movie, I have to warn all of those who has only seen the film yet, and aren't familiar with the books, that they will most likely point at their screens with wide eyes and say "This was different in the movie!" a _lot of_ times. Please ignore those differences, because this writing is strictly based on the original story. Thank you.

**Prologue**

 

The room keeps swinging slightly back and forth, making Stiles feel like vomiting the next second. His stomach wasn't created to bear with this, he's sure about that. His travel upwards is really long, it makes Stiles feel as if it was stretching into eternity. The darkness isn't a helping condition, either—it only makes Stiles loose his ability to evaluate for how long has he been traveling upwards or how long way he's taken so far.

He feels utter fear spreading around within his body. He has no idea at all about where he is nor what is the destination he's heading toward. He hates to feel like that, to feel like he's helpless and he can't do anything against him feeling so wretched.

Metal clings to metal, and the room is still swinging back and forth. Stiles has to swallow back a retch before instinctively placing his hand in front of his mouth that's parted slightly by now.

Suddenly he feels a harsh hitch and the room stops with a loud cracking sound. The impact forces him to fall back onto his butt. Stiles' breath sticks on his throat and all he can do is switching his eyes everywhere, however, seeing nothing, since it's still pitch black all around him.

A few minutes pass like this—one, two, three... who knows how much, before a straight trail of light crosses the darkness, slicing through it and cutting it in two. Stiles has to cover his eyes to protect them from the unpleasant feeling caused by the sharp brightness. He whimpers softly, having both of his arms in front of his eyes, preventing the light from approaching his dilated pupils.

Contrary to the previous silent time he spent sitting there, now he can hear a lot of voices speaking. Asking questions. Saying words Stiles has never heard before. At first he's not even sure they are speaking the same language as him. He narrows his eyes before slowly sinking his arms down from them. It takes a while until his vision clears and thus lets him to focus on his surroundings. He recognizes all the shapes of people standing above him before noticing the rope that was thrown down for him. He looks up at the people again with a confused face, as if waiting for reassurance, before someone yells down to him.

“Just grab the shuck rope and hold on to it,” the voice says. For some reason Stiles does what he was told. In a matter of a few seconds he finds himself out of the room and on a place that looks like...

“Welcome to the Glade, Greenie,” someone else says.

 

**Saturday**

“What is this place?” Stiles asks. His voice is coming from far away, the beating blood in his ears bugging him and slightly preventing him from hearing clearly. He's still dizzy a little, so he needs to gain a good foothold with his legs somehow if he doesn't want to collapse in front of these people. That wouldn't do any good for him. Stiles doesn't want these people to think he's easy to oppress.

“Nothing good,” a guy answers. Stiles looks around—he acknowledges that there are no girls but only guys surrounding him. Are they gone somewhere? Maybe the girls are preparing dinner, because the sky is turning violet above their heads and the everlastingly tall stone walls. As hard as Stiles is trying to find the edges of those, he's unable to do so. It looks like they fade out into the clouds.

“You called it 'Glade',” Stiles turns to the brown haired guy. “Where is it?”

“At our terminus.” Another vague answer. “I can assure you one thing; you won't like it here.” Stiles furrows his eyebrows, and makes a confused expression at the other, but before he could say anything, he starts talking again. “The Box came late today, so you're going to be showed around tomorrow. The Runners are about to arrive anytime.”

What on earth is this guy talking about? What 'Box'? What 'Runners'? And what's with all those confusing, unknown words they used a while ago? Stiles is pretty sure he has never heard any of them before in his life. In fact, he can't remember _anything_ from his life. So how can he be so sure? He can't really explain it, he just knows it in his guts that some newly found words were spoken, that you wouldn't be able to find in any dictionary, no matter how hard you'd be trying.

The only thing he knows for sure is that his name is Stiles.

No surname, no middle name, nothing. Just this one word, 'Stiles'. Not even his age, his data, when he was born, who his parents are... literally _nothing_. His mind feels like a black hole now that he discovered how many things he doesn't know. He can't recall any conversation from before, not a single smell, a touch. Not a name nor a face he could connect it with.

This frightens him.

Was it the same with the others? Can they remember things he can't? What if he's the only one with an amnesia? What if something is wrong with him?

He glances back at the dark hole he was hauled out from—the Box as the boy called it. Just like my mind, he thinks, and his body shivers as a jolt of coldness strikes down along his spine at this thought.

By the time he acknowledges his environment again, he realizes that only one person is left there with him. This individual is practically beaming at him and his puppy-gaze is fixed on Stiles. If he observes his face closely, he can recognize that his jaw is kind of uneven in a way.

“Are you hungry?”

Now that he was reminded, utter starvation invades Stiles' whole being, leaving him feeling uncomprehendingly weak and vulnerable. His stomach feels like a literal ulcer amidst his ribs. He needs to embrace some food as soon as possible.

“Hell yeah,” he blurts out in the end, making the boy chuckle.

“Follow me, then,” the guy waves his hand in a gesture that tells Stiles 'come with me', and who is he to say otherwise? His stomach is growling in anticipation and he clearly needs to get rid of its demands first. If not, he won't be able to devote his attention to anything else, that is for sure. “Oh, name's Scott by the way.”

“Stiles,” he answers, but doesn't really heeds Scott, being too busy taking in the Glade and the gray ivy-covered walls around it as they are walking. “So who was that guy?” he asks after several minutes, deciding to build up a conversation.

“You'll know everything tomorrow.” Scott answers, not even doing as much as turning around to look at him.

“What will happen tomorrow?” Stiles pushes.

“You'll be showed around here and will be given a task.”

“What task?”

“One of the numerous ones we have on the Glade.”

And again, the vague answers.

“Can't _anyone_ give me a proper answer?” Stiles snaps, and that catches Scott off-guard because the next moment he stops and turns around on his heels to face Stiles.

“Sorry, okay? Peter just prefers to tell everything himself.”

“Who's Peter?” Stiles frowns. Scott's face turns into an 'I don't believe myself' expression as he's mumbling “Crap” under his breath. Okay, this guy is weird. But Stiles couldn't care less about it as long as he'll be given food.

“Not important. Just follow me,” he says and without waiting for a response, he starts walking again.

“No,” Stiles says, stubbornly staying at his place as if his feet grew roots into the ground. Scott is bound to stop yet again and pay a look at Stiles. “Not until you answered me.” Scott sighs—the way he does it Stiles would think this action is painful if he wasn't doing that all the time, too.

“Alright,” Scott says ends up saying, giving in. “What do ya wanna know?” A satisfied, smug smirk finds its way to Stiles' lips, almost in an arrogant 'I won' way.

“Who's that Peter you were talking about?”

“If I answer, you'll be even more confused.” This chases a frown to Stiles' brows.

“Why so?”

“Because then you'd have a lot more questions following.”

“It's a simple thing. You only have to say one word,” Stiles urges on. When Scott exhales a long breath, he knows he won.

“He's the Leader of the Glade.” A short pause sets in between them after this statement, which is cut off by Stiles' voice.

“That doesn't make me ask more questions,” Stiles points out and puts his hands on his hips as if he was proud of himself for being able to stay quiet.

“Good,” Scott beams again. “Now, I bet ya ain't wanna starve to death.”

Stiles is not sure whether if he does shake his head in reality or he does it only in his mind, but he doesn't care about that, only follows the puppy-eyed to a place where another boy—Frypan—grumbles something under his breath before letting himself be persuaded to give the two of them a sandwich each with some water in a metal cup. Scott motions for Stiles to follow him, which he now gladly does. Now that his hunger has its cure, he will willingly do anything he's asked for.

Scott leads him to a tree behind the goofy-built shack and has both of them sit down at its base. They keep munching on their sandwiches, taking occasional sips from their water awhile. None of them is speaking, now Stiles is calm as well. As long as he's eating, other matters aren't bugging him.

That is, until he recognizes some fellow boys appearing from behind the enormous gate that's standing tall in front of him. The guys' faces are flushed red, all of them are panting hard from obvious exhaustion, their clothes sporting several darker spots by their sweaty bodies, and despite all of these, they don't stop until they reach a little building. Since Stiles followed them with his gaze, he realizes that the same is happening at each of the openings those are gaping between the robust stone walls. There are four of these strange gate-like things, right at the middle of the walls that surround them and the Glade.

“Look, the Runners are back.”

That announcement wakes Stiles' curiosity again.

“I can go outside?” he asks, standing on his feet already, ready to explore the outside world. He has to wait to be shown around here, okay, but he's curious and _has_ to discover something if he doesn't want to go nuts during the night with all the questions colliding in his brain.

“No!” Scott exclaims, jumping up from his butt to grab a handful of Stiles' shirt to prevent him from running off. “It's forbidden.”

“Who says it is?” Stiles challenges, even though he doesn't have an idea why.

“Peter,” comes the respond.

“But I don't see him around here,” Stiles shrugs, partly to show Scott how much he doesn't give _a shit_ , and partly to get rid of the guy's hand that's holding him. “A little sneak peek won't kill anyone.”

“It will if you go outside now.”

This startles Stiles. He makes a face at Scott which he hopes is expressing clearly that he's expecting him to go on talking. Scott intakes a deep breath.

“Those openings in the walls are about to close. They aren't opening up again until morning, and if you stay outside—”

“Woah, woah, woah, wait,” Stiles interrupts. “You're actually telling me that these walls are _moving_?” Scott nods as if it was the most natural thing in the world. For some reason it makes Stiles rage on. Maybe the unreasoning in it is what pisses him off. “Don't think I'll believe that, not even for a second, because there's just no freaking way that those walls can move on their own,” he rambles on. Once he's finished, Scott states another thing, as a fact.

“No one has ever survived a night in the Maze.”

“ _Maze?_ ” Stiles blinks in confusion. “So there's a maze outside?”

Not even waiting for a response, he takes off and runs towards the gate closest to them, totally ignoring Scott's yelling. He stops just in front of it and extends his arm to put his hand against the cold ivy-covered stone wall and touch it with his fingertips. He strokes his palm over it, gaining some dust by this action, which he wipes into his light gray trousers later.

“There's no way this thing would move an inch,” he claims eventually. Scott chuckles before shrugging.

“Once you see it for yourself, you'll believe it.” Stiles' mind is still busy with this impossible fact that was said about the walls, when another thing hits him out of the blue. It strikes him in the most disturbing way ever.

“You said no one survived who stayed out there...” he starts to say, but trails off without finishing the sentence. “Why do these guys go out then?” Scott now volunteers to give answers willingly. At last, Stiles thinks.

“It's dangerous to be out there at night,” Scott begins the explanation. “Well, it's dangerous during daytime, too, but slightly less,” he corrects himself. “Anyway, the point is, there are some nasty hideous creatures haunting the Maze. If these walls and Doors weren't here, we wouldn't have any protection against them,” he pauses for a few moments, probably to see if Stiles is catching up or not. “They are the bloody Grievers.”

“That sounds horrific,” Stiles says, half joking, though for some reason a cold breeze ran down his spine as he heard that, causing him to shiver, despite the fact he hasn't even seen one of those creatures before.

“If they stung a Glader, he'll either die, or, if he's given the Serum in time, will go through the Change and gain some of his memories back.”

“They sting us?” The word 'sting' sounded like a curse word from Stiles' mouth. Scott nods and continues to answer Stiles' asked questions, changing the topic to the Runners.

“The Runners are the most important people here,” he says. “They go out every morning when he Doors open and come back in the evening before they would close up.”

“What do they do during the day?” This subject is the one Stiles finds the most interesting so far.

“They run through the whole Maze to find a way out.”

“Have you ever been out there?” Stiles tilts his head towards the Door. Scott shakes his head frantically, while Stiles walks so he's facing the outer world.

“Of course not. I told you it was forbidden. But you'll be informed about the rules tomorrow, anyway.”

“Rules? What rules?” Scott chides himself again for blurting out something that he shouldn't have said.

“Never mind. You'll know it tomorrow.”

“But—” Stiles starts to say, but he's cut off by the other guy.

“I'm not saying anything else. I already said too much,” he states. Before Stiles could start a quarrel in sake of persuading him into sharing further informations with him, he recognizes a shape moving on the path that's leading to them. At the same time, a deafening sound can be heard—signifying that the Doors are closing. The individual can hardly make it to the Glade, but with a desperate enhancement in his speed and a frantic jump, he falls to the safe ground just in time. He looks up at Scott and Stiles, then takes off towards the little building where each of the Runners disappeared.

The echo of the sound of the two stone walls colliding to each other stops only a few more moments later, which, after seeing the previous scene, somewhat feels like a heavy weight to Stiles' heart. Seeing that boy running for his life with _that_ look on his face that reflected nothing but utter panic and the acknowledgement of death is burnt into Stiles' memory for eternity.

Silence eats at the two of them, before Stiles suddenly remembers something.

“Are there any girls?” At first Scott looks at him with a puzzled face, as if it was the stupidest question he's ever heard.

“No,” he answers eventually. “There's just us. Boys. About forty of us.”

“Why are there only boys, but no girls?”

“We don't know,” Scott shrugs. “Guess the Creators don't want more of us.”

“What 'Creators'?” Scott moans.

“Shuck it! I'm certainly _not_ telling anything else! I swear to God if you ask one more question I'll—”

“Okay, just chill, buddy,” Stiles soothes him, patting his palm to his shoulder. Scott exhales.

“Let's go to sleep.”

 

**Sunday**

Stiles is awoken by Scott. Stiles makes a few attempts to try and shove him away, but Scott gains a good hold on him and manhandles him to his feet. This forces Stiles to open his eyes finally, and when he looks up he notices that not just Scott, but the formerly introduced Leader himself is paying him a visit as well.

“Get up, ya're gonna have a bloody hard day,” Peter states before grabbing Stiles' sleeve on his upper arm and dragging him along. All Stiles can do is stumble after the other while trying his best not to trip over his legs and shame himself by hitting the ground with his face.

Stiles' attention is drawn to a little group which is having breakfast.

“Why are they up so early?” Stiles asks, pointing at the boys. Peter glances in their way before answering, though not stopping even for a second.

“They are the Runners. They have to be ready to take off by the time the Doors open,” he says. It makes sense, Stiles notes in his mind. According to what Scott told him yesterday, they need the whole day to run through the entire Maze in sake of finding a way out. But why are they doing this? For how long have they been doing this? How big willpower and hope must be in them to keep doing it with no success? After all, the Maze is— As if Peter could read his mind, he continues speaking. “The buggin' Maze changes every night. Probably while the Doors are closing, 'cause there's no way we wouldn't wake up to the shucking noises.” Stiles agrees with that in his mind. He heard how loud the walls are yesterday.

“Where are we going now?” Stiles asks. He really can't see any point in approaching the wall. However, surprises are not over yet, it would seem; Peter has him to bend down and by moving some ivys, a little window catches Stiles' gaze. He looks up at the Leader, who urges him with a wave of his hand to look through the window. “What do I have to see?”

“Just look at the shuckin' window.”

Stiles doesn't argue anymore. He does as he was told only to be scared to death. He's never seen anything more hideous, anything more frightening in his life before. He knows it without having to ask—what he's looking at right now is a Griever. When the creature jumps and throws itself against the window Stiles instinctively backs off from the wall. His whole being is shivering with cold jolts of chills right now, it causing him to trip over his legs and fall down on his butt. He collides to the ground with a hiccup. When his brain is registering the outer world again, he acknowledges that Peter is laughing, probably, or rather, most likely at him.

Stiles fights his urge to tell the other guy to shut up as he stands up and dusts himself off.

“So,” Stiles starts to say. He has to stop, though, because his mind is still too blank and he has to organize his thoughts to be able to create an appropriate sentence. “These haunt the Maze?”

“In case it wasn't obvious; yes,” Peter answers in a somewhat scornful tone. Stiles manages to reduce his reaction into a simple frown instead of making a comment or two at the Leader's smugness. “C'mon we don't have the whole buggin' day for this klunk.”

Stiles wants to ask what a 'klunk' is, but his curiosity and relief that he's going to be given more informations about this place takes over him and all he does is follow in a dazing haze. Peter is no longer dragging him along, thanks God.

First, he's led to the middle of the Glade, where Peter points at the dark hole.

“This is what we call the Box,” he says. “It sends a new shuck-face in every month and resupply weekly. Once we tried to escape this way; a Glader volunteered to climb down after the Box was gone, but something came from the dark and sliced him in two.” The blood runs out from Stiles' face in an instant, making his cheeks even paler. The Leader snickers a little at his expression. “Long story short: this was your one-way trip here. Ain't no ticket back, Greenie.”

Stiles really wants to say something, to comment the story of the Box or to simply tell this guy to quit calling him 'Greenie', but his mind is blank. The only thing he manages to blurt out is a question, which he considers pretty rational and appropriate to ask.

“Who sends these supplies?”

“The Creators. We assume they put us in the bloody Maze. And before you ask: we have no idea who they are or what their intentions are.”

“How do they know what you need?”

“We write a list,” Peter shrugs. “send it back with the Box, and we're given whatever we asked for. Though there are some exceptions; we never once got a TV for example.”

“Why don't you have someone sit in the Box?” Peter gives him a look.

“Do you honestly think we're that klunk-for-brains?” Stiles wants to deny it, but Peter keeps talking. “We tried _everything_ , but nothing worked. When a shuck-face was sat in the Box, it didn't make a bloody move. It stayed where it shucking was until the Glader climbed out.”

That creeps Stiles out, but he remains silent. He really doesn't want to give any reason for this guy to think he's scared to death—even if he _is_.

“Scared enough yet?” Peter smirks, his head cocked to the side. Stiles looks at him, seriously wondering if the other is able to read minds. “I can see you are.” Stiles goes to deny it, but the Leader continues. “Good that. If ya ain't scared, ya ain't human.” It makes sense. “If ya weren't 'bout to klunk in your pants I'd have to shove you off the Cliff, 'cause that would mean you're a psycho.”

“The Cliff?” Stiles asks confusedly and Peter rubs his forehead, as if in pain.

“Shuck it, you don't know a bloody thing. At least the new Gladers could be informed about how life is goin' here, then I wouldn't have to do this klunk every month,” he snarls. Stiles' recollection is, according to Scott, that Peter likes to tell everything himself. “Anyway, the Cliff is a place in the Maze, and... well, it's a cliff. If you're tossed, you're dead, that is.”

The end of Peter's sentence is drown by the heavy sound of the stones as they are opening up. From the middle of the Glade Stiles can see very well as the Runners take off into the mysterious changing paths of the Maze.

“That is,” Peter says, pointing at one of the gates ahead. “the North Door. The other is the East Door, the third is the South Door and the fourth is the West Door. The Runners, like I said before, look for a way out. They have a sophisticated tactic to map the Maze.” Stiles is not sure if he's allowed to ask about it. In the end, he decides it's worth a risk.

“What is that tactic?” Peter laughs dryly.

“Do you honestly think I'd tell ya? It's enough if the Runners, I and two more Gladers know about it.” Stiles hardly manages to hold back a sulking huff and a scowl, along with a question in connection with the identities of those ominous individuals who know _the secret_ that's bugging Stiles so badly at the moment, but he considers it would be entirely unnecessary to ask—he wouldn't get an answer but a laughter in his face yet again. Although he's curious as Hell. “Here, look at that,” Peter speaks up again, after he fought and suppressed his laughter. He's pointing at the shack Stiles slept in last night, which is at the North West corner of the Glade. “That's the Homestead. Those, at the North East corner,” he says, his hand already moving in the appropriate way. “are the Gardens. At the South East corner there is the Bloodhouse and at South West there are the Deadheads.” Stiles is following each of the movements the Leader's hand makes, in the end it resulting in his gaze lingering at the trees those make the little forest in the last corner that was introduced.

A few minutes are given to Stiles to acknowledge every data he was told so far.

“There's the Slammer and the showers behind the Homestead,” Peter continues eventually. “That,” he points at a little concrete building with a heavy-looking iron door in the distance, in the direction of the South Door. “is the Map Room. Only the Runners are allowed to enter.” Silence sets in between them again, though it's shorter than the previous one. “Now I'm going to tell you the most important things, so pay bloody attention, 'cause I hate to repeat myself,” Peter threatens, and Stiles reflexively focuses at the Leader with all his nerves and very cells. He knows what's going to be said is _important_. “We have some rules goin' on here. Ya gotta act according to them or I'll personally throw ya off the Cliff, gotcha?”

Stiles nods in an instant. His subconscious reminds him that Scott was babbling about some rules yesterday, but he didn't tell him any of them.

“Rule one: everyone does their part.” While talking, Peter is holding his hand up in front of himself, counting the numbers with his fingers. “Rule two: never hurt another Glader. And the most important one: _never go beyond the walls_.” He's giving Stiles a look which is practically asking him if he got everything.

“Understood,” Stiles nods.

“Good. Now, I have to tell you about the hierarchy we got,” Peter announces. “Just so ya know, I'm the Leader. Never dare forget that. Alby and Newt are the deputies. Or semi-leaders, whatever ya wanna call them. Now, there are some jobs around the Glade. The Runners are just ones from them. We also have Sloppers, Med-Jacks, Cooks, Baggers, Track-Hoes, Builders, Bricknicks and Slicers. Each of these jobs have a Keeper. On the following days you're gonna be taking part in their daily routine so we'll know what position to give ya.” After another short pause, Peter adds. “This is your bloody life from now on.”

“I don't like it,” Stiles points out.

“Told ya ye wouldn't like it here,” Peter says, barking out a laugh. “One last thing: you'd better accept the role ya get. Jackson was claiming he was too good to do any jobs here, so he instantly became a Slopper.” The way Peter said that gave Stiles the feeling it was a punishment.

“What does a Slopper do?”

“You'll know it soon enough,” Peter waves his hand as if to shove Stiles' question away from him. “You have this day to wander around, get to know the place. And from tomorrow on, you're gonna be working hard. Now I have to go to check on Ben.”

Before Stiles could ask who that is, Peter has already distanced himself by a few meters from him, making a beeline towards the Homestead.

Stiles decides to take advantage of the time that was given to him, knowing he really won't have any time from then on. He remembers everything he was told, and he starts to walk around, getting to know every place. He's already been to the Homestead, so he decides to visit that last. The first place he goes to, is the Map Room.

He approaches it rather fast—his curiosity is overwhelming, and he's dying to know what is in this place. Stiles puts his hand on the cool iron door. It's obvious that a key is needed in sake of getting in there, which he clearly doesn't have. He wishes he could sublime temporarily just to get into there.

After a few minutes spent next to the short concrete building, he continues his trip over the Glade. While walking passed the kitchen, he can see that now more Gladers are having breakfast, which reminds him of his own hunger, causing his stomach to twist and growl impatiently. He surrenders to his physical need when he spots Scott among the boys. Stiles approaches them and sits down next to Scott.

“Hey,” he greets, only to get a beaming smile and puppy eyes in return.

“Sorry for having to wake ya so early,” Scott apologizes. Stiles waves in an 'it doesn't matter' manner.

“What's your job?” Stiles knows exactly that this sudden change of topic is random, but now that he's aware of these things those are going on on the Glade, he just _needs to know_ what Scott's role is. The guy smiles.

“Med-Jack,” he answers, then points at a blonde sitting in front of him. “Like him.” Stiles follows Scott's finger with his gaze to see a boy smiling at him. He has clear blue eyes and golden strands of hair. “Name's Isaac.”

“Stiles,” he says.

“I think I'll go with Greenie for a while.” Stiles' eyes widen before he starts protesting.

“Why'd you call me Greenie when you know my name?” Isaac shrugs.

“I was addressed that nickname when I arrived, too. The others had been calling me Greenie until the next shank arrived.” Stiles senses some kind of avenging satisfaction which he can't take as an insult towards himself, he warns himself.

“Guess you could call it a habit here,” Scott adds.

~

After breakfast, Stiles' favorite activity is to hang out with Scott and Isaac. He's asking them about their job, but the two boys fall silent whenever Stiles asks about their current task. They volunteer, though, to show him around as a continuation of his wandering around the Glade.

They take him to the Deadheads, where among the trees they lead Stiles to the graves of their companions who passed away. At one tomb there is a glass with words clumsily etched into it. It reads: _“Let this half-shank be a warning to all: You can't escape through the Box Hole.”_ It sent chills all over Stiles' body. This instantly brought back the tale of the boy who tried to rappel down the dark hole after the Box had descended and was cut into two by something slicing through the air.

“The Baggers will tell you more about this place. Let's go now,” Isaac says, already tugging Stiles away and out of the forest.

Their next destination is the Bloodhouse. However, they don't spend too much time there, because Stiles hates to see how the animals are slaughtered down for food. He could deal with their smell, but not with the sight of their death. The two Med-Jacks understand him, and tell Stiles that they felt just as sick at the sight of it as him.

The Gardens turn out to be much pleasing for the newbie—he prefers plants to animals. The three of them is even greeted by some of the guys working there. It lifts Stiles' spirits and gives him the soothing feeling that life may not be so bad here. But he still can't get rid of the question that's been eating at him ever since he arrived: _why are they here?_

The last place they visit is the Homestead. Right behind the shack there is the shower, and a few meters away from it, in the direction of the northern wall of the Glade, there is the so-called Slammer, hidden behind thorny, ragged bushes. Just like the Map Room, it's made of concrete as well. It has a tiny window with bars crossing it and a wooden door that's locked up with a metal latch. Scott tells Stiles that Gladers are sent here due to a punishment that the Gathering decides about. Since Peter didn't tell anything to him about it other than talking about the Keepers and the identity of the Leaders, the responsibility falls on Isaac and Scott to enlighten Stiles about the council they have. Its members are the Leaders and the Keepers and they decide about everything that happens in the Maze or on the Glade. They decide about any changes, punishments... _everything_.

“Who are the Keepers?” is Stiles' next question.

“You'll get to know them soon enough,” Isaac says, then leaves with Scott due to their jobs. They disappear behind the door of the shack. Stiles doesn't want to let them get away so easily with some vague answers, but when he wants to follow them upstairs, someone stands in his way.

“It's forbidden to go upstairs.”

All Stiles can do is back off and go back outside. He considers the Deadheads will be perfect for him to take a quick nap.

 

**Monday**

Today is Stiles' first day of doing any jobs out of the ones he was told about the previous day. He's enthusiastic about it, because at least now there is going to be something to drive his attention away from the hopeless situation he got into and from which there is just _no escape_. His enthusiasm, however, is vanished when he gets to know where he has to start working.

“At the Bloodhouse?” he moans. Newt, a muscled, blonde guy, just nods and leads him there, not minding the fact Stiles knows exactly where the slaughterhouse is. Newt is limping slightly, but Stiles doesn't dare ask about it. If he learned anything during the two days he's spent here, then it's definitely the fact that people here hate to give accurate answers. He's sure if he asked he'd either end up with earning a pitying laughter in his face or an answer similar to 'none of your buggin' business'.

So he ends up staying silent.

Eventually, they approach the place where Stiles' first job is going to take place. Newt greets the boys working there easily before turning his attention to a guy who came up to welcome them. He has a short chat with Newt, then the blonde semi-leader leaves after giving Stiles an encouraging pat on his shoulder.

“Winston,” the boy says, giving Stiles a reassuring smile. He tries to requite it, but he has a feeling he failed miserably at it.

“Stiles,” he answers, really hoping that Winston isn't in need of such a revenge that Isaac likes—to call him Greenie.

“Good that,” the Keeper says. “Lemme show you around here first.”

All the animals are shown to Stiles, in which pens they are, and he's also introduced to a dog whose name is Bark. Thankfully, its name was given out of a joke, because it's as silent as a dog could be. After this, Stiles is bound to work around the farm during the whole day—he has to feed the animals, fix their fences, clean their habitat and scrape up their _klunk_. The only break he gets is dedicated for lunch.

Following his dining, Winston has him to watch as he kills and prepares a chicken for dinner. A boy named Matt is assisting for this, and Stiles' stomach is having a funny time again, just like back then in the Box when he arrived. He felt dizzy and sick, but this is something slightly different from that—that time he had nausea because of the movements of the room, but right now the sight of killing a _living thing_ is what making him want to vomit. At nearly the end of the day he's let to go wherever he pleases.

Stiles already knows he will definitely not be able to swallow anything from today's dinner.

He decides to look for Scott and Isaac. He wanders over the whole Glade, but can't seem to find any of the two boys. Stiles tries to evaluate what time it is by looking at the sky, but he has to realize he has no idea how to do it. The only thing he can tell for sure is that it's afternoon. Stiles would say it's around seven o'clock, if he had to guess it. His amber gaze hovers over the bright sky. The weather seems to always be the same in the Maze—it never rains, never snows, the temperature never changes. Everything stays the same. It's not too hot, but not too cold either. A pair of pants and a T-shirt is always a perfect choice to wear.

For some reason this saddens Stiles.

Variety is the spice of life, they say—another thing Stiles can't recall how he knows about it or where he heard it before, but it must have been someone who left a great impression, otherwise he wouldn't remember it now, he assumes.

Stiles approaches the Homestead, from where numerous clearly audible pained screams and yells are coming, it sending several shivers down Stiles' spine. Before he could take a step closer, someone appears in the doorway.

“What's happening?” he asks the other boy, who just shrugs.

“Ben is in pain,” is all he says, then takes off towards the kitchen, with Stiles following him with his sight. Stiles assumes this guy must be a Med-Jack, and a memory floats into his mind, in which Peter is saying something about visiting Ben as well. What could have happened to that Ben? It must be something bad and serious, considering all the yells coming from indoors.

“Stiles?” Hearing his name, he immediately turns around on his heels to see Scott standing in the doorway this time. “You done for today?”

“Yep,” he nods. “What's with this Ben? What happened to him?”

“Peter forbade us to talk about him,” Scott shrugs. Stiles knows this is every information he's going to get in connection with Ben's condition, and this time he chooses to be nice and don't push the subject any further. He doesn't want Scott to feel bad again for blurting out something he's not supposed to tell. “Wanna go to the kitchen now?” Stiles perks up at that. He considers his answer for a second only.

“Sure thing.”

Despite seeing how Winston and Matt slaughtered the chicken, Stiles still has his physical needs, including embracing some food. He could send anything down his gullet that has nothing to do with that poor chicken.

Stiles obediently follows Scott to the kitchen, where the smell of frying and cooking food is already transiting the coaxing scent of dinner.

After getting their share of food, they take a sit at the table and start devouring their dinner. Stiles tells Scott about his day at the slaughterhouse, also getting into details, which Scott isn't really thankful for, especially during _eating_. When Stiles is done telling his story, including Bark, Scott gets a chance to speak as well—taking advantage of this, he enlightens Stiles about his next few days; what his tasks will be, the order of the jobs he has to take part in, and everything that Stiles is curious about. The only thing they don't talk about is Ben.

They are having a really nice chat, maybe for the very first time since Stiles has arrived, when new faces start to show up in the dining area. Stiles doesn't pay much attention to them, though, because he's too busy asking Scott for data, _any_ information about himself.

“How tall do you think I am?” Scott eyes him for a while, even ducking his head to steal a glance of the boy's body under the table, before sitting straight back up and looking up at him. He makes a face at Stiles.

“Do you honestly think I can tell it while you're sitting?” Stiles is just about to stand when Scott continues talking. “I think you must be around 180 cm by the way.”

“And how much do you think I weigh?”

“I don't know, 147 pounds maybe? I'm not an expert!” Scott moans.

“Okay, dude, chill,” Stiles waves his hand with the fork in it, hoping it looks at least a bit soothing. He considers changing the topic the best thing he could do right now, even though he's itching to ask how old he seems to be. “So, have you ever thought about who your parents are?” He couldn't bring himself to say ' _were_ ' instead of using present tense. A lump formed in his throat at the possible truth of that thought and he has to swallow hard against it to try and make it move away from where it is in his gullet, making Stiles uncomfortable.

“Of course I did. _Everyone_ did. But _no one_ remembers a shucking thing from their life,” Scott answers, his voice uncomprehendingly, unusually silent. Stiles sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. Maybe he shouldn't have brought up such a sensitive subject. He's about to ask what Scott's theories are of them winding up here at the Glade, when a harsh toned voice cuts across the air.

“What the _bloody Hell_ do you think you're doing, shuck-face?” The guy rages on, standing up in a threatening manner from where he's been sat. “Why can't you do it right? This thing is undrinkable! I've been running the whole day, I need proper food, got that, ya shank?” The frightened boy is only capable of nodding frantically with wide eyes and a clenched mouth. “Then shut your bloody hole and quit trying to convince me to drink this klunk, will ya?” The guy exhales loudly, in a way that it sounds cathartic, before adding. “I'm goin' to the digs to have a sleep instead of dealing with you, klunk-for-brains.” And with that cue, he storms out of the place. The only thing Stiles is able to do is stare at the spot where the guy had just been with gaping mouth and blinking eyes.

He turns to Scott after at least two more minutes.

“That guy freaked me out,” he states and Scott nods, agreeing.

“He does that to everyone.”

“What? The freaking out part or the yelling part?” Stiles asks only to earn a flat look from Scott.

“The freaking out part. He freaks out everyone, apart from a few exceptions.”

“Exceptions like...?” Stiles asks, trying to urge Scott to keep on talking.

“Like Peter, Alby or Newt. Or Minho,” he adds after a brief consideration.

“Okay, but who was that guy?” Stiles asks while nodding his head in the direction of the door which through the boy left the dining-room.

“The Keeper of Runners. If I were you I'd wish I wouldn't get to face him. Like, ever.”

And Stiles really doesn't want to get in that guy's way, not after he frightened him so much by making him watch a scenario in which he yells at a poor kid, also humiliating him by doing this. No, he doesn't want to face him, even though _he wants to be a Runner_. And he knows he will never be allowed to do that job without the agreement of that guy, who really doesn't look like someone to let anyone join the Runners.

Stiles is so screwed.

 

*

 

**Monday**

Stiles' past week was an exhausting disaster.

On Tuesday he was sent to work with the Baggers. They are the ones who get rid of all the corpses and take care of the tiny cemetery that is in the Deadheads. Stiles found two new acquaintances for himself among them, though. Two twins—Aiden and Ethan. At first they had their fun scaring Stiles all the time, which also included tossing him into one of the dug holes next to a dead body. They quited doing this when they heard Stiles cry and sob, because somehow he ended up _under_ the corpse. The kid was hauled out from the grave and the moment he reached the grass again, Stiles vowed not to become a Bagger in his life. In the end, Isaac and Scott ended up comforting him in the evening to make sure he can fall asleep.

On Wednesday he had to join the Cooks. They prepared the breakfast, the lunch and also the dinner for everyone with the leadership of Frypan, the Keeper of the Cooks. Apart from the smell of raw meat, Stiles enjoyed it the most out of all the jobs he had tried out so far, but he also knew it wasn't meant for him. Though while the others were eating, he had the chance to take a look at everyone and memorize their faces. At least now he's aware of how every Glader looks like.

On Thursday he was sticking with the Med-Jacks. This was the most enjoyable job he could imagine, because he practically spent his whole day with his two friends. He had to take care of a burnt wound of one of the Cookers and Vernon, a Slicer, who cut himself during work. At nearly the end of the day he was sent to a few Runners to give their aching and numb shins a massage, or to take care of their wounds if they had any. Also, this was Stiles' very first moment to ever have the chance to talk to a Runner. One of his patients was Minho, who was kind of the deputy Keeper of the Runners, being the second best of them. They had a short chat, which included a lot of dark humor—as far as Stiles could tell, Minho enjoyed his treatment. By the end of the day Stiles understood why Scott and Isaac are so busy all the time.

On Friday he worked with the Sloppers. It is the most hated and considered the lowest-ranked job on the Glade. Stiles met with Chuck and also the boy whom Peter had told him about while he had been showing Stiles around—the so-called Jackson personally, who had claimed he had been too good to do any of the jobs. During the past days, though, Stiles also understood that work helps them to survive mentally. If they were lazy not just their lives would end, but they would also give up living sooner or later. Another proverb came to Stiles' mind out of the blue in connection with this: _work ennobles the individual_.

On Saturday, the weekly anniversary of his arrival, he worked with the Builders. Their Keeper is called Gally, whom Stiles got to know as someone headstrong, fiercely independent and stubbornly strong-willed. However, Stiles liked him for these traits, he could also say he respected the guy for them, because he stood up for his rights and protected his opinion no matter what happened or what the others would think about him later.

On Sunday, Stiles was sent to the Bricknics. Their job is similar to the Builders', but they improve the things those have gone wrong and do the little jobs in a building scenario, like taking the needed materials to the places the Builders need them and so on, to help and finish them their job faster.

Today he was working with the Track-Hoes, where he made another friend—Danny. He is the favorite of Zart, the Keeper of the Track-Hoes, because he's nice, calm and does anything he's told with angelic patience. If he had blonde hair and blue eyes Stiles would suspect him of being an actual angel. Stiles gets a lot of help from him as well, and by the end of the day they can be considered as something close to friends. Anyhow, Stiles knows this job is not for him, being too impatient to keep himself busy with it. He needs something more fascinating and interesting, something that needs his strong points, like his sharp mind with the additional advantage of getting rid of his extra buzzing energy that keeps him hyperactive—he still wants to be a Runner.

“We already know his position, there's no need for Greenie to try himself out as a Runner. He's not going with you tomorrow,” says Alby. Minho has been confronting him and insisting to let Stiles run with them tomorrow, but the semi-leader is intransigent. The only thing Stiles can do is listen quietly, still sat on his spot. For the first time he doesn't know what to say or how to react to the scene he was dropped into. It started with Minho sitting down next to him with his dinner to give him a reminder that tomorrow he's joining them, but Alby overheard their conversation and came up to them to say otherwise. During the quarrel, Minho stood up to try and threaten the deputy, with not much success. Stiles has given up on his dream that he's been so eager for and which he was bubbling about during the whole week to Scott and Isaac.

“Oh yeah? And what his job would be?” Minho puts both hands on his hips in an angered way. Stiles knows for sure there is no way he would ever be arguing with the Asian boy, no matter what the circumstances would be—Minho has great biceps and his clothing can't hide the fact that he has an attractive sculpted body. But all these look quite sinister when he's raging on.

“He's gonna be a Med-Jack,” Alby says. Stiles acknowledges this statement, and does his best to try and convince his mind that this will be the best for him. This way he can spend his days with his friends, he will be informed about that mysterious Ben kid and if he's lucky enough he will also meet some of the Runners on a daily basis and he can ask them for stories, like the tale of their day or anything in general.

“No,” comes a third voice from not too afar. Everyone turns in the direction of the firm tone in an instant. Stiles knows this guy already—he's the Keeper of the Runners.

“But—” Alby starts to say, but he's interrupted by the Keeper.

“Pipe it,” the guy interjects in a low voice. Maybe Stiles has been wrong all this time. Maybe this guy is not at all that bad. Maybe he actually has a heart and not as headstrong and aggressive as he seemed. “He's coming with me tomorrow. And no one can say otherwise. _I am the Keeper of the Runners_ , thus it's my job to decide who could make a great Runner. Also,” he says, giving Alby a pissed look. “everyone has the right to at least _try_.” And that's it, Stiles officially loves this guy, whose name he doesn't even know yet. When the unknown Keeper turns to dart his gaze at him, he stiffens—his body goes rigid, pure fright sets itself on his face and he has to swallow hard against a newly-formed lump in his throat. “You,” he says and Stiles has to look at his face more intensely, just to show him he _is_ paying close attention. “Make sure to have a goodnight sleep tonight. You're gonna have a tough day tomorrow.”

Stiles only has time to nod to show the other he understood, then the Keeper is not there anymore.

 

**Tuesday**

Stiles is awoken by a few gentle tosses with the other's hand placed on his hip. He blinks his eyes open to see a dark shadow cowering in front of him with a flashlight in hand. Everything comes to Stiles' mind immediately—his heart rate picks up at the thought of him getting the chance to actually _go out_ into the Maze and be a Runner for a day. He quickly sits up and looks at the face of the other guy. In the faint side-light pollution the flashlight is giving he can see that the Keeper of the Runners is smiling at him. He instantly requites this gesture with a grin on his own, before standing up after the Keeper and following him towards the Homestead.

However, instead of going inside, the guy leads Stiles to a crooked cranny near a back corner of the Homestead and pulls out a key which he opens the door with. It leads to a storage closet. As the Keeper's flashlight crisscrosses over the small area Stiles has a chance to more or less figure out what they keep here. In the end, the light settles on a box that's full of running shoes. They approach it and the boy looks at Stiles.

“Shoe size?” Stiles blinks at him like he was an extraterrestrial.

“How should I know that?” he asks and the other snorts, trying to suppress a laughter.

“Okay, good point there,” he nods. “But you can always take off the one you're wearing and just check it, y'know.” Stiles makes an 'ah' sound, signifying the other he got it, then flops down on the floor and starts unfolding his shoelaces. He's glad he didn't piss the Keeper off with that previous ignorantness, but anything can happen—there's a whole day ahead of them and it hasn't really even started yet.

“Thirty-seven,” he says, looking up at the other to see him nodding and turning around to roam over the box full of shoes. It doesn't take a long while before he drops a pair of white, light blue and silver colored shoes in front of Stiles.

“Here. Also,” he turns again, and for the time being, Stiles starts putting on the shoes. “You're getting one of these, too.” Stiles doesn't have time to glance up from tying his shoelaces before a plastic watch lands in his lap. “Only Runners and Keepers get these.” Stiles' heart is fluttering inside his ribcage and he feels like flying away anytime by utter bliss. A grin is present on his lips already, which he doesn't take any effort into wiping away from his face, because he couldn't care less about how stupidly he's smiling or how pitifully he looks like for being so happy. The only thing that matters to him right now is the fact that all these are happening to _him_ , and not to anyone else. When he stands, the Keeper eyes him for a while before asking. “Good?” Stiles gives him a confused expression. “The shoes,” he clears.

“Oh,” Stiles says intelligently. “Sure. Good. They are good. Comfy.” He mentally chides himself for making himself look like a complete idiot in front of this guy, but said individual's biggest issue is finding a way to hide his smile from Stiles.

So far everything is just fine.

The Keeper shuffles around in the closet and moves some boxes away from the back wall. Under those a trapdoor was hidden. The guy lifts it and Stiles notices a set of wooden stairs leading to nothing but complete and utter darkness that's ruling the lower room. Stiles is eager to ask what they are going down there for, but he decides against it, still sticking with his plan of not pissing off this boy. He follows the Keeper, listening to how the stairs are creaking under their weights and entering an area with cooler air, dust and strong scent of mildew. Stiles' temporary master pulls a string and a light bulb is switched on, uncovering the secret that's kept there.

The place is full of various weapons—wooden poles, metal spikes, large pieces of mesh, rolls of barbed wire, saws, knives, swords. Also, there is a whole wall devoted to archery.

“Wow,” Stiles mumbles, his voice a dull thump in the enclosed area. The guy smiles at him.

“I wasn't supposed to take you down here yet, not before you become an actual Runner, so,” The way the other says that gives Stiles the feeling he has hope to gain this so-wanted position for himself. The Keeper puts his index finger in front of his smiling lips while winking at Stiles. The whole picture of him is the mixture of innocent and pleading at the same time. “keep it a secret or me?” By this, Stiles feels like the two of them are being partners in crime. For some reason this lifts his spirits.

“Sure, no problem, dude,” he answers quickly and easily, like this was the most natural thing on the world. Like doing whatever this guy asked for was the one and only purpose of his life. In a way, though, he owes the other a lot already.

“Just don't call me 'dude' again,” he says and Stiles' heart starts beating faster as if he's just run a whole marathon, afraid he's just screwed everything up with his so-called big mouth.

“What can I call you, then?” The guy gives him a half smile that practically warms his inner side and makes his heart and soul melt and sublime away into thin air.

“Derek.”

He acknowledges it with a nod, then looks around.

“What if someone came down here secretly?”

“That can't happen,” Derek answers, taking a step closer to Stiles as he pulls out a set of keys. “Not everyone has these, Stiles.” When he says his name, Stiles recognizes his voice to sound velvet smooth. He shoos this thought out of his head immediately, though, reminding himself he can't let himself to grow feelings towards anyone, especially Derek. And especially not based on his stupid imagination, because there is just no possible way that he said his name so nicely.

But what could he possibly do? This Derek guy was aggressive to everyone, but him, helped him out yesterday, because without his interfere he wouldn't be here right now, preparing for today that he's going to spend out in the _Maze_ instead of the Glade, he took him to places he shouldn't even see yet, and acts like he would trust Stiles with his life as well. At this point Stiles gives himself a few seconds to actually think about it—he ends up with the conclusion that Derek _is_ placing his life in his hands in a way, because if he did as much as mention he was taken to the secret hideout of weapons Derek would most likely be punished. Maybe tossed off the Cliff. Stiles shivers at the thought of that.

“We usually take knives with ourselves,” he says, cutting off the trail of Stiles' thoughts. The Keeper cocks his head, pointing in the direction of the said weapons. “Pick one out for yourself.”

Stiles does as he was told. He approaches the huge range of various knives and decides that the boning knife with the slightly arched blade and blue plastic handle will be perfect for him.

~

The next destination they go to is the kitchen, where the rest of the Runners are already having breakfast. The two of them take a seat next to each other and start eating as well. This time Stiles also has a morning coffee, which he only has one chance to take a shot from, because when they are done, the Keeper steals it from Stiles.

“Hey,” he moans, but the guy only gives him a half smile with the rim of the cup touching his bottom lip, halfway from drinking the hot substance.

“You're hyper enough without this, too,” he says, then drinks it all in one go. Stiles wonders if the guy's tongue was burnt and how he _knows_ about his hyperactivity in the first place, but he forces it into the very back of his mind to focus on what is important right now—to give a good performance today so he can earn a Runner status for himself. He knows he won't be able to see Scott as many times as he does now, but he also knows he's ready to take that risk in sake of this job.

After loading up on food and drink for themselves in their backpacks, they leave the kitchen. Stiles doesn't need to be told to follow the Keeper—he does it obediently, like a submissive puppy. They approach the North Door and the Keeper starts warming up for the whole-day-long running. Stiles copies his movements and warms up as well. Five minutes later the guy considers it enough and he shakes off his limbs while modestly jumping a few times in his spot. Stiles shakes off his arms and legs, too, but he does it in an obviously clumsier and untrained way. Derek greets the other Runner with a nod of his head who joins them at the North Door, that is opening at the moment, then gives Stiles a smile before asking.

“Ready?” Stiles puts his hands on the two straps of his backpack and squeezes them before nodding. “Let's run, then.”

The other Runner takes off before them, they following behind not too far away from him. For a little while the three of them run together, but then Derek turns left while the other turns to the right. From then on, they are separated. Stiles doesn't ask why the boy isolated himself from them, since it's obvious—they won't run together during the whole day, otherwise the Maze couldn't be mapped. Stiles still doesn't know anything about the method they use to document the changing of walls those make the labyrinth around the Glade.

They run through several corridors and pass numerous corners when Derek slows down a bit, pulls out a note and writes something down. Stiles is only paying attention, careful not to ask anything. He doesn't want to make Derek tell him anything he's not supposed to tell, since he's showed some forbidden things to him already—and that should be enough for today. Derek doesn't do as much as glance at him before enhancing his speed into a running pace again.

During running, Derek uses his knife to cut off the ivy from the walls. Their trip consists of these actions—cutting the ivy in the corners and taking occasional notes. After what seems like infinity, Derek winds his speed down into casual walk before gradually processing to an actual stop. He flops down to the ground and Stiles does it willingly as well, glad to see that Derek is just as exhausted as he is—he was worried his endurance was too pitiful compared to Derek's. He evaluates their distance to be around four or five kilometers long. Both of them rest their backs against the soft green vegetation growing and covering the walls as they open their backpacks and pull out their food. Stiles knows lunch time has come.

They eat silently and Stiles drinks half of his water before Derek puts his hand on his bottle to tilt it backwards.

“Slow down with the drink. It's only halftime yet,” he states and Stiles reluctantly puts his water away after giving the other a nod. He decides to drive his attention away from his thirst by asking a question.

“What happened to Ben?” Stiles considers this a valid thing for him to know, because he either becomes a Runner or a Med-Jack. Either way, he needs to know why Ben is in such a bad condition. Seemingly Derek thought it through as well, because he gives an accurate answer.

“He was stung by the Grievers.” The food sticks on Stiles' throat at hearing that and he starts coughing, nearly choking on the morsel. He can immediately feel Derek's hand on his nape and the opening of a bottle at his mouth. Before he could even think cold substance is flooding his mouth, forcing him to swallow. A little bit of the water flows down on his chin onto his T-shirt, wetting it, then he wipes his mouth. He looks at Derek with wide eyes.

“Thanks,” he blurts out on a dry tone. Derek nods.

“Maybe next time I should think twice when to tell you anything.” Stiles can't help but chuckle at that. The Keeper sits back to his spot where he had been resting before, then starts packing. “Come on. Time's ticking and we still have a lot of places to visit.”

~

The shadows have started to grow taller and longer. Derek checks his watch and motions for Stiles to turn around and follow him out of the last dead end. With the help of the cut ivies, that they are now either picking up or kicking away, they easily find their way back to the North Door. After passing it, Derek grabs Stiles' damp skin on his upper arm to stop him. Both of them are panting hard, but Derek forces the words out of his mouth.

“Gotta go... Map Room,” he says, inhaling and exhaling rapidly awhile. “You... go and... take a sh,” he takes a deep breath, the air reaching the deepest depths of his lungs. “shower,” he finishes eventually. Stiles nods and heads towards the place he was directed to after handing the knife and watch to Derek and letting the guy to take off to the short concrete building.

The huge openings in the four walls close a little while after their arrival, which couldn't have been longer than five minutes. _Five minutes_ —their lives depended on such a short period of time. The thought makes Stiles shiver by several icy chills roaming over his body.

On the other hand, though, he can't deny how much he enjoyed being out there.

 

**Thursday**

Yesterday, on Wednesday, Stiles' status was announced.

After putting down all the changes and leaving the Map Room on Tuesday, Derek had been approached by Newt to tell him they are having a Gathering on Wednesday after he arrived back from the Maze and documented everything. The Gathering was about the Keepers telling their opinions on Stiles' performance. They agreed that the best position for him would be being a Med-Jack, but that was the time Derek spoke up.

He told the others that he'd been doing his job for two years and thus, he knows exactly what's needed to be found in an individual to make a great Runner. He noticed those traits in Stiles—good endurance, especially for his first time, quick thinking, lack of having to ask anything, because he understood the reason immediately behind each one of his actions, courage, and Stiles got used to being out there pretty fast. Also, last but not in the least, it's rare to find someone fitting for this status, and they should be grateful for Stiles being capable.

Peter knew clearly that Derek always knows what he's talking about and that he has insightful observing eyes to spot a great subject for a Runner position—so as the Leader, he supported Derek's opinion and advice, which resulted in the official decision of Stiles being a Runner from then onwards.

~

Stiles is still too grateful for Derek's persuading and intimidating skills, so he needs massive resistance to prevent himself from jumping on him and glomping him, wrapping his arms over the Keeper's neck to wrap him up in an everlasting embrace of his when he wakes him up in the morning before dawn.

They do the same procedure they went through on Tuesday. Though in the hideout of weapons Derek stops Stiles when he wants to go for picking a knife out for himself. He turns around questioningly with a confused expression on his face and looks at Derek. The guy smiles at him and ducks his head a little, hiding his lightly shy-like smile which Stiles finds profoundly _adorable_.

“I wanted to give you something,” he speaks up once he raised his green gaze back up at Stiles, the room swallowing his voice. Stiles blinks a few times in utter surprise. “Just as a reward of gaining a Runner status for yourself.”

“That should be thanked to you, not me,” Stiles states and Derek shakes his head.

“No,” he denies. “I used logical deductions, I couldn't have persuaded them without common sense. If you weren't _actually_ good out there I wouldn't have had any basics to use and build my derivation on.” Stiles falls silent at hearing that. He can't believe he's that good. His mind starts wondering what Derek could have possibly said about him during the Gathering, but the Keeper reaches for his forearm, grabs his wrist gently and delicately raises his arm. Stiles' knees feel like jelly at the soft touch and the electricity that zigzagged over his body. He's wondering if he's the only one to have felt that sensation out of the two of them. “So, let me congratulate to you,” Derek continues talking in a smooth tone. He places a knife into Stiles' palm. The material is warm, making it obvious that it has been carried around by Derek all the time. Stiles looks up at him with an unasked question glittering in his amber gaze. Derek explains. “It's my favorite knife, the very first I've ever used. I learned everything while using this. I hope it will bring luck to you.”

Stiles looks down at the black bladed knife with a black metal handle before raising his eyes back at Derek's face. He's still smiling, and his green gaze looks like a melted warm substance. The Keeper takes a step closer to him, while his eyes still keep Stiles' trapped, and Stiles can feel the short hair on his nape stretching upwards, his stomach twisting amidst his ribs and his palms going cold yet sweaty. He knows he's excited and eager for something to happen, but he can't put his finger on what that is. For all he knows is that in his guts he feels something is _supposed_ to happen now.

Derek puts his warm hand on Stiles', giving it a reassuring squeeze, before releasing him ultimately and taking a step backwards.

“Let's go, the Doors are opening soon and we still need to have breakfast.”

~

The embracing of breakfast ends with Derek stealing Stiles' coffee yet again. He whines about it, but Derek shushes him and checks his watch.

“Come on, we need to go,” he says. Stiles follows him into the back to pack their lunch. While walking towards the North Door, Derek fishes something out of his pocket. Stiles can't help but not too obviously stare at the Keeper, who's wearing black track pants with a single white vertical line on the sides of it with a sleeveless black hoodie that's zipped up to the middle of his chest only. His outfit compliments his stunning sculpted shape perfectly. On his left wrist there is his plastic watch and on the other a wristband, both of them also black. Stiles already noticed that Derek is wearing black from top to toe all the time, also including his running shoes of course. “Here,” he says, hauling Stiles back into reality from his personal Wonderland. He shakes his head modestly.

“What?” he blurts out clumsily. Derek volunteers to explain.

“Your watch. Back from the day before,” he says, holding the blue and white material toward him. When Stiles' hand moves to take it, the loud noises of the four Doors opening seize the Glade.

They take off into the rearranged paths of the Maze. Stiles can't help but notice that the first few corridors are the same as two days before. He takes notice to Derek about that, but instead of giving an explanation on the spot, the Keeper promises to make it clear for him later. The day passes the same way it did on Tuesday—the usual and already known two actions are switching each other with the only difference of Derek attaching some comments to them this time, since Stiles officially belongs to him now as in terms of leader and follower.

Thanks to the comments, Stiles is enlightened why Derek is taking notes occasionally—the reason behind it is that he writes a reminder for himself about everything that's different from the previous day, then based on those notes, he draws today's Maze. This is the method Stiles has been so curious about all this time.

~

Back at the Glade they run to the Map Room without stopping even once. Derek opens the heavy iron door, revealing an empty little place with a wooden table in the exact center and eight chairs standing around it. The place is full of boxes and papers—some of them rolled up, some of them simply placed in a box. They came first today. Derek grabs yesterday's paper and starts sketching today's paths on a new one, while other Runners arrive as well, including Minho. He greets Stiles with a nod and a half smile, giving the boy a congratulating pat on the shoulder in appreciation before heading to the crowded table where the rest of the Runners are already buzzing and drawing with anticipation not to forget any difference they need to document. Once done, Derek puts his works away carefully, then approaches Stiles and leans in close to him to be able to whisper into his ear.

“Take a shower and rest a bit, then I expect you to be back here in maximum two hours.”

Stiles doesn't have the time to ask why he needs him here, because the Keeper is already gone and out of sight.

His only choice is to do what he was told. He quickly finishes with refreshing his body with cool water and changing into a tracksuit. He goes to the Homestead and waits for Scott there to be able to talk to him a little. Scott is beaming at him during the whole time they spend together to chat, still being ultimately happy for Stiles fulfilling his dream of becoming a Runner. Scott also praises him, and when it begins to be too overwhelming for Stiles, not being used to being praised so much, he has to go to be at the arranged place in time. He doesn't want to piss Derek off once because he's too grateful for the guy and twice because he owes him _a lot_. And third because he's kind of attracted to him, but that's not something he would admit to anyone, ever.

On his way to the Map Room his mind lines up a whole range of possibilities why Derek wanted to meet him. Some of them make him anxious, some of them make him excited, and the rest he can't really put anywhere.

When he tries to open the door, it lets itself, making it obvious for him that Derek is already inside, waiting for him. He checks his watch—he's still in time, moreover, two minutes ahead of the arranged time. Stiles steps inside to find Derek organizing the papers of the drawn maps of the Maze. He's standing between two chairs he tucked away before. The closer Stiles gets to the other the clearer it becomes for him that Derek also took a shower in the meantime, because he smells nice instead of sweat.

Derek only looks at him when he places a chair away to make room for himself next to Derek and approaches the table as well. The Keeper smiles at him which Stiles more or less requites, however, he's too nervous and he's sure it's obviously shown on his face. Also, the sight of those _bunny teeth_ are giving his stomach a funny time—butterflies involved.

“Here, take a seat,” Derek says after a while. Stiles can't tell if it was a minute or merely a few seconds of silence and staring into each other's eyes. For him it felt like infinity. He submissively sits down on the chair Derek is offering for him, and lets Derek to push him close to the table. His heart is beating fiercely in his ribcage, because Derek stays behind him. The guy reaches for an empty paper and a pencil and starts sketching. For the time being Stiles has the opportunity to take a closer look at Derek's profile. He obviously adores the boy's looks, but clearly, there is hardly any chance for such a person to exist that isn't hooked by Derek's charm. His mouth is still gaping and his eyes are still following each of the other's movements involuntarily when Derek announces that he's ready. Stiles realizes what he's doing when Derek presents him with a half smile and a brief chuckle. “I sketched something for you to make it easier to explain everything,” he says. Stiles instinctively glances down at the paper that's in front of him, so he doesn't have to look sat Derek after staring at him so obviously. His gaze follows Derek's index finger as the guy starts the explanation, however, he's hardly able to pay proper attention, because the Keeper is still standing behind him with his left hand resting on his back. “This is the Glade,” he points at the square in the middle in which the word 'GLADE' is written. Around it there are eight more squares, and the nine of them make three rows of three squares. The drawing depicts the Glade and its immediate area. The eight squares are given numbers from one to eight—starting with the upper left corner and going clockwise. Little notches can be found, too. “These are the Doors,” Derek explains. “There are the ones around the Glade, but four more are also in the Maze. They lead to Sections One, Three, Five and Seven. They stay in the same spot, but the route there changes along with the rearranging of the walls.”

“It's amazing,” Stiles says, completely fascinated by the strict structure. Derek snickers and agrees with a nod before giving the promised answer to Stiles' confusion in connection with the unmoving walls back from morning.

“Today you mentioned that the walls are the same as they were two days before. It's because those main corridors directly outside the Doors never change, only the ones a little deeper out,” Derek says, then slides his index finger over above the eight Sections. “According to these, we always have at least eight Runners, including the Keeper, one for each Section. We map out our area during the whole day, hoping we will find an exit, and at the end of the day we come here and document each of the changes.”

“Which you do by taking notes of them,” Stiles points out, earning a wide grin from Derek.

“Indeed.” He gives Stiles a few minutes to examine the drawing before asking. “Understood everything?”

“Yep,” Stiles nods, his eyes never leaving the paper. Derek acknowledges it with a nod on his own and inhales a long, deep breath into his lungs before leaning forward.

“I'm glad you understand everything easily. Also,” he pauses for a while, letting perfect silence set in between them. In the quietness of the room Stiles finds his fast heartbeat deafening and wonders if it's only the blood beating in his ears or Derek can _actually_ hear his racing heart. “I'm glad you became a Runner.” Derek lets go of him and takes some steps backwards, toward the heavy iron door. Stiles turns his head immediately towards the other, willing to ask why that makes him satisfied, but he's beaten to speaking up first. “Come on, it's already past curfew. The others are on their way of falling asleep.”

Stiles leaves the Map Room for the outdoors and Derek closes the door.

“Good night, Stiles. See you tomorrow.”

 

**Sunday**

“How's being a Runner going?” Scott asks with his back leaning against the wall of the shower. It's already turned dark and they are done for today's mapping. Since Stiles' first time in the Map Room back from four days ago, he's been progressing and he can remember all the Doors between the Sections well now.

“It's really good. The most interesting job ever,” Stiles says, turning the tap and stopping the flowing of the water. He wraps a towel around his waist and steps out of the shower to dry himself off before throwing on his clothes. When he's done, he joins Scott and they go on a lazy walk around the Glade after twilight in the soothing darkness. “Isaac told me he was still intend to keep calling me Greenie, though,” he adds, making a face. Scott laughs at him nicely, but Stiles can't be upset at him because of those stupidly cute chestnut brown puppy eyes and his dopey smile. He just sighs and lets it go.

“Bear with him. Isaac really hated to be addressed by that nickname.”

“It's okay,” Stiles shrugs. “I really don't take it as an offense.”

Slowly but surely they approach the Deadheads. Despite his not really nice experiences with the tombs, Stiles isn't afraid to come here. Even if it was nasty, that was just a prank by the twins, addressed to him. He would never trip and fall into any of the graves on his own. Scott and Stiles walk among the trees, listening to how the tiny twigs are ripping under their weight by the sole of their shoes, when Scott speaks up.

“And how's your training?” he switches subjects. Stiles keeps his gaze on the forest floor to make sure not to fall on his face by a root while moving forward.

“It's really good. I haven't really had to do anything yet, though. I mean, Derek does every task and he simply has me watch what he does and how he does it. But he said that from the next week on I'm going to have to be prepared for more than just observation.”

“So starting tomorrow?” Scott tries to clear it. Stiles gives him a half smile.

“Exactly.”

“I guess he wants to know how much you remember of his advices or somethin',” Scott points out and Stiles shrugs.

“Maybe. But I don't really know. It's hard to read in him and his intentions somehow. I don't know why he does what he does.”

“Well, it _is_ hard to figure Derek out. All I know is that he's a lone wolf and chooses who to let close to himself. Guess only those few people know him in earnest.”

Stiles nods briefly, then halts and flops down at the corner of the ivy-covered walls. Scott makes himself comfortable from across him at the base of a wide-bole tree. They are lulled asleep by the pleasantly chilly night air.

 

*

 

**Wednesday**

Like Derek had promised, Stiles began to have actual tasks apart from observation on Monday.

After drinking _Stiles'_ coffee again and stating how too much sugar is put in these in a regular basis yet again, Derek leads them to the North Door. During their walk there, Stiles points out that Derek shouldn't drink his coffee all the time if he doesn't like the sugar dose in it, but the only response he gets for that is a snort as Derek tries to suppress his laughter. He starts whining about it, but Derek shushes him by stating he would be too hyper if he let him drink that amount of sugar and caffeine.

When the Door is opened, Stiles dashes into the Maze without waiting for Derek's reaction or guidance. He knows Section Two by now like he knows his own palm. Also, the fact that he's the one taking notes of the differences is still keeping him excited thus today's going to be the first day when he's not just writing reminders but also cutting off the ivies to help them find their way back to the Glade.

He comes to a stop at the last wall of Section Two, where the walls stay unmoving, and looks at Derek who approaches him, panting lightly. The Keeper extends his arm towards the corridor ahead of them.

“After you,” he gives Stiles a half smile. The teenager ignores how that gesture resurrects his butterflies in his stomach and jogs through the corridor, trying to cut off the ivy with the black bladed switchblade he was given by Derek a couple days ago. He realizes, though, that he needs to stop in sake of doing that. Derek pats him on the shoulder reassuringly. “It takes practice. You'll do better.” Stiles just nods and tries not to pay too much attention how clumsy he is compared to his master. Derek pulls out his butterfly knife from his pocket and easily chops off a two-meter-long piece of the plant, shoving it down to the ground. “Let's get moving.”

During the first attempts, Stiles needs to halt or at least wind his speed down to be able to cut the vegetation off the wall. He doesn't manage to do it as flawlessly as Derek before lunchtime sets in.

They eat in silence and in a rush like always. After satisfying his physical needs, Stiles always hates to continue running, because his belly feels heavy and sometimes it gives him a nausea, too. Although he's well aware that they don't have a spare two-hour-long period to let their bowels digest the taken food, so he doesn't complain. It just comes with being a Runner.

Stiles' skills in cutting the ivy don't improve in the rest of the day either. Once he can't even switch the blade up properly in time and he ends up having to back off to the corner. In the last dead end he goes as far as manage to cut his own fingertip accidentally. He hiccups away a painful whine.

“What happened?” Derek asks. Stiles holds his hand up briefly before trying to wipe his blood into his dusty pants, but his wrist is grabbed by Derek. The Keeper's gaze is darted firmly on the flowing red substance and before anything, Stiles can feel Derek's soft, warm lips against his skin. He's sure his face turned scarlet the moment he felt the other's tongue sliding along his finger. His mouth is gaping widely open and his being is availably shaking. “There,” Derek murmurs in a low voice that is hardly above a whisper. “Better than risking an infection.” Stiles nods in an ecstasy, only the subconscious part of his brain registering the statement and giving a reaction to it. He didn't even think about any kind of infection when he was about to wipe his hand in his dirty clothing. “Let's go. We hardly have time to make it back to the Glade.”

For Stiles' biggest surprise, Derek doesn't let go of his wrist. Instead, he drags Stiles along, making sure he won't stay back and out in the Maze at night, being a vulnerable victim to all the Grievers haunting the corridors simply by being in a dazing haze at the moment.

In the end, they can barely make it back to safety. The Door starts closing behind them after ten seconds of them passing it. They don't dwell on it for too long, though, because their duty for today hasn't ended yet.

When they enter the Map Room, they notice that all the other Runners are already there at the table, sketching today's maps of the various Sections of the Maze. Stiles takes the only open seat at the wooden desk, grabs the pencil and paper that's laying in front of him on it, waiting to be used, and after earning yesterday's map, he starts drawing today's according to the notes he took about the differences. Derek is standing behind his chair during the whole procedure, keeping an eye on Stiles' work to check if he's doing everything alright. Once he's done, Stiles puts the paper to its place before joining Minho and Derek at the iron door. The Asian guy greets him with a nod of his head and the three of them leave the concrete building to let the others work in silence and peace. They all know how distracting any sound can be while they have to concentrate sharply on all details.

“I'm going to take a shower,” Derek announces and isolates himself from the two boys. Minho turns to Stiles.

“Still being trained?”

“Yup,” Stiles answers. He examines Minho's face for a while and the expression he's wearing plants worry in Stiles. He's urged to ask what's up with him. He _has to know_ why Minho's face has that expression on. “What is it? Is there a problem?” Minho glances at him momentarily, obviously considering what answer to give. Eventually, he ends up shaking his head.

“Nothing,” he says. Stiles is just about to push the subject to get an actual answer when the other continues talking. “It's just the training has never lasted so long to anyone.”

And with that, he leaves Stiles alone with his destroying thoughts.

 

**Saturday**

After finishing their lunches Derek allows only two more breaks, none of them longer than five minutes. The shadows are already growing tall around them, obviously signifying them it's hightime they turned around and started running back to the Glade. However, on their way back, Derek suddenly halts. The sudden movement results in Stiles bumping into him with a dull thud. Derek turns to Stiles with his index finger placed on his lips to show the kid to stay silent, but said teenager is too busy satisfying his curiosity. He wonders what is the reason behind them having to stop out of the blue.

When Stiles recognizes the Griever, he lets out a short shout—it's cut off by Derek, as he pins him against the ivy-covered stone wall, his hand on his mouth to shut him, while the other is still in front of his own lips with his index finger raised. His green gaze is firmly connected to Stiles' amber one, telling him to stay silent or the Griever may spot them. Stiles has a desperate expression on his face, but nods anyway, and Derek slowly lets go of him.

Both of them plaster themselves to the cold wall and peek out from behind the corner. They keep an eye on the Griever and Stiles gently tugs on Derek's shirt, just enough to get his attention. The Keeper glances down at him and he pats his wristwatch with his fingertip. Derek nods, already being aware that they are running out of time.

Eventually, Derek ends up stepping out from behind the safe covering of the wall and stands to the middle of the corridor. The Griever doesn't look like it noticed him, so he waves for Stiles to follow. Once he's out, Derek grabs his elbow and tugs Stiles' body close to himself to whisper into his ear.

“We're gonna have to run. Fast. Just follow close behind me, got it?” Derek distances himself from the other to see his reaction, which is a nod. “Then come,” Derek's lips form the words without making any sound, and he takes off, running in maximum speed instantly. Stiles chases him with everything he's got. The sight of the Griever is creeping him out—he can't even decide whether if that hideous creature is an animal or a machine.

The Griever pauses for a second, then its numerous arms start moving frantically all of a sudden.

“Watch out!” Derek yells over his shoulder to Stiles. He already knows he has to watch out for the hand that has the injection-like thing in it. If he lets this thing to sting him, not only he, but Derek is going to stay behind in the Maze for the night as well, if Derek decides to try to take him back to the Glade somehow. For both of their sake, he enhances his speed, gaining energy for it from God knows where. He gets gradually closer to Derek's dashing body, but he has to wind his speed down a little so their legs won't collide into each other and they won't end up face-down on the ground.

The Griever's body is getting closer and closer to them, all with the spikes and slick skin and the arms. The sounds it makes are sending icy chills down Stiles' spine, causing him to shiver modestly despite his increased body heat that is a result of the all-day-long running. Derek doesn't have to tell him that they need to split up—one of them running on the left, the other on the right side. This way they can confuse the Griever.

However, instead of attacking them, the creature curls up into a ball, spikes out, and starts rolling in an unexpected speed. Derek and Stiles are following it, since all three of them need to go in the same direction. The Griever heads to the Cliff, while the two boys run to the North Door, that is closing already.

From a supply of energy that is triggered by the huge amount of adrenaline rushing over their circulatory system, their pace is increased even more, it helping them to pass the huge stone gate before it would either close them out into the Maze for the night or close _on_ them. The Door closed just after Stiles entered the safe haven, the Glade, too. If he was running just a little slower or arrived there one second later, he would have lost his shin and most likely one of his forearms as well.

They are panting hard, Derek propping his arms on his knees while Stiles is supporting himself by leaning his back against the wall. Derek is the first one to organize himself enough to be able to make a move apart from gasping for air. He stumbles to Stiles and holds his hand out, that is shaking slightly by pure exhaustion.

“Gimme... notes,” he says. Once he got them, he continues. “You... shower.” Stiles nods. He knows he must consider it as an order from his Keeper, and not just a friendly advice.

~

After spending a good one and a half hour in the Deadheads as a relaxation, Stiles goes to take a shower when his legs aren't so sour anymore. He meets Scott there, and they take advantage of the fortunate coincidence by having a good chat with each other. According to Stiles' advice, they go back to the Deadheads, where they can be alone and away from the others. A beetle blade flashes up among the leaves—Stiles has seen these before. The word 'WICKED' is written on them, and he was informed that the Creators use these to keep an eye on them and to keep tracking of everything that happens in the Maze and on the Glade. It creeps him out for some reason—they are alone in this place, yet not entirely. He feels like a rat in an experiment laboratory.

“Derek isn't fair with me,” Stiles sighs. Scott perks up at that and quits tearing the blades of grass.

“What? Why? But he helped you and he's training you, isn't he?” Scott crawls closer to Stiles on his palms and knees. He settles closely next to the other and nuzzles his cheek into his shoulder like a fonded puppy. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Stiles shakes his head and lets Scott to keep nuzzling into him. “That's it. He doesn't say nor do a single thing.” Scott blinks up at him in confusion.

“Now I really don't get it.” Stiles inhales deeply before beginning to tell the tale of the explanation.

“A couple days ago I had the opportunity to talk to Minho. He said that no one's training lasted as long as mine.” Scott makes a quiet 'oh' sound and in the next second he starts stroking Stiles' arm in a consolatory way.

“I'm sure it has nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, but the tone of his voice betrays him, giving it away to Scott that he doesn't believe it the least. “But maybe you'll see me more often.”

Scott furrows his eyebrows, but Stiles chooses to let the subject go. Instead of detailing his doubts to Scott, he wishes the kid goodnight and closes his eyes, ending the conversation by this.

 

*

 

**Thursday**

Stiles and Derek take off into the Maze in the morning. As always, Stiles does all the work. His skills of cutting the ivy have improved a lot during the past week, and now he doesn't even need to slow down to be able to chomp off a piece of the green plants and he hasn't cut himself since that ominous moment when Derek licked his finger clean from his blood—the wound is still there, though, reminding him of that day whenever he looks at his hand. However, he's more reluctant than ever, and like everything, it catches Derek's insightful attention as well.

“Have anything happened?” he asks when Stiles halts and pulls out his notepad to write down a noticed change in the position of the walls.

“Yeah,” he nods, deciding to act ignorant to the actual subject of the asked question. He points at the path with his pencil. “This corridor wasn't here yesterday.” Derek frowns and takes a step closer to Stiles, which urges the boy to start backing off. Whenever Derek takes a step, he takes one, too.

“I didn't mean the walls,” he points out. Since Stiles is avoiding his gaze and keeps his stubbornly darted on the ground, Derek ducks his head a little to be able to catch the amber eyes. “But I think you know that.” Stiles looks at him at that.

“Know what?” He was deep in thoughts, so he hardly paid enough attention to what Derek had to say. The Keeper exhales a frustrated breath before repeating himself.

“I said I thought you knew I hadn't meant the walls by that. I addressed that more to _you_ , you know.” Stiles acknowledges that statement with a nod, however, refuses to say anything to that. “Really, what's the problem?”

“Nothing.”

“I know something's up,” Derek pushes. “Tell me.” Stiles frowns and looks at the other with an angered gaze. When he speaks, his voice is harsher and louder than it ever has been whenever he was talking to Derek.

“You really wanna know?” Derek makes a face at that on his own, too.

“What do ya think?” he asks, putting his hands on either sides of his hips. Stiles is now vibrating with nervousness.

“Well then, let me tell you that you shouldn't play around with me. The fairest would be to tell me the truth which is it was a mistake to make me a Runner and you were wrong when you thought I was that good.” Derek's face turns confused in the meantime, but Stiles doesn't care about it and just rambles on. “I know I suck at this klunk _badly_ , so you should tell me to quit. But you know, there's no reason to do that anymore, because when we get back to the Glade today I'm telling Peter to let me become a Med-Jack instead. I love it out here, and the rush of adrenaline and the excitement of each day, the insecurity and that I can never be sure that I will make it back to the Glade in time, morbid as it sounds, but I know that being a Runner isn't meant for me, because the training has never lasted as long to anyone as it does for me, and—”

That is the moment he shuts up. The second he mentioned the training, Derek's face started to reflect a mixture of apologetic and guilty expression as he turned his face away from Stiles a little and looked down to the ground like a little child who's just been caught cheating. Stiles can't put it anywhere.

“W-what?” he asks in a quiet tone. Derek's shoulders twitch, like he's just suppressed a shrug. Silence is eating at them, then after a short while Derek looks up at him finally.

“Let's go. We don't have time for this.”

“We'll reduce lunchtime,” Stiles says immediately. Derek sighs. “Your turn to confess.”

When Stiles said that, he expected anything but the answer he actually got.

“Alright,” Derek takes a deep breath, his eyes closing awhile. He's carefully avoiding Stiles' gaze when he continues talking. “It's my fault. You wouldn't have needed such a long training, but I...” he trails off again. Derek squeezes his eyes shut tightly as if he was experiencing physical pain or some kind of pressure. Well, pressure is right, but in a hypothetical way. “I wanted to spend as much time with you as possible. This was the only way I could manage that. I'm sorry you had to think you were bad at this, I know I've been selfish. From tomorrow on, you'll have your own Section to map out. Promise.” The only thing Stiles is capable of doing at the moment is staring at Derek with wide eyes and an incredulous facial expression settled on him, it resulting in heavy silence floating in between them.

Due to the silence, Derek gets too anxious and is urged to take at least a momentary glance at Stiles. All of his doubts and nervousness is vanished when he sees the boy. One of his eyebrows arch and his lips part to ask a question, but Stiles beats him to speaking.

“Oh my God,” he blurts out weakly. “Oh my God, you love me. You really love me, don't you?” Derek's mouth curls into a shy half smile and he ducks his head a little for a handful of moments before nodding.

“I do.” Stiles can't help but let a wide grin spread out on his face. He's practically _beaming_ now. It chases a smile to Derek's lips, too.

“Come here,” Stiles says pretentiously and starts opening his arms for Derek, but the guy is already there before he could finish the entire movement.

Derek kisses him gently, patiently, his velvet soft lips moving slowly against Stiles'. His arms snake around the boy's waist to pull and hold him closer, while Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's neck, deepening the kiss and some of his fingers losing among the guy's dark strands of hair.

As much as they want to keep the kiss sweet an innocent, it turns heated in no time.

The fact that they've been waiting for so long for this to happen shows in their contact—they are obviously eager for more and seemingly can't get enough of the other. Loud sounds of kissing fill the air around them and one of Derek's warm palms finds its way under Stiles' T-shirt. None of them feels contained enough and both of them just wants more and more, eager to feel as much as possible from the other's body. It doesn't take long before Derek shoves Stiles against the wall and pins him there with the usage of his toned, sculpted body.

When he abandons Stiles' mouth and changes for his neck, both of the teenager's arms slide down from around his neck to be placed on Derek's broad chest. Between pants and tiny gasps, Derek manages out the words.

“We gotta go.” He can hear Stiles chuckle clumsily, almost choking on his breath.

“Exactly what I wanted to say.” Derek grins, but doesn't back off just yet.

“I'm letting you go after this,” he says, then leans close to steal one last kiss from Stiles, however, stopping halfway. He whispers. “Open your mouth. Stiles, open it up for me.” His voice sounds somewhat desperate and entirely pleading. The boy obediently parts his lips and Derek seizes that mouth with his, literally devouring it, because their make-out scene involves way too many teeth and tongue. Derek involuntarily pushes his body closer to Stiles', this way pinning the other tighter against the wall of the Maze. Also, he's such in an ecstasy right now that he doesn't even recognize himself lifting one of Stiles' legs and wrapping it around his waist. Stiles makes a humming noise in the back of his throat, and the whining is enough evidence for Derek to know he's doing everything _just right_. His firm body is plastering Stiles between him and the wall, but the boy doesn't seem to mind it—instead, he's merely reduced to a panting mess, and when Derek bucks his hips Stiles can't help but moan into the Keeper's ear in a passionate tone. Derek stops peppering kisses all over Stiles' skin on his neck and a part of his shoulder that he can reach by moving the clothing away as much as its neckline lets it and his body goes unmoving, like he was a statue. He gasps out the words. “I'm so taking you tonight.” He takes two or three steps backwards only to make Stiles smirk. Derek frowns. “Don't say a shuck word.” Stiles wonders if anxiety makes Derek change his vocabulary and urges him to use Glader-slang.

“I couldn't even say anything, trust me,” Stiles says, throwing his hands up as if he was surrendering himself. He merely noticed Derek's bulge in his pants that he was lucky enough to feel just a while ago. “Now come on, we haven't run today.”

Not even waiting for a response from Derek, Stiles takes off. However, he can hear the other mumbling something about definitely getting him tonight. With that promise, or at least promising words, he follows Stiles and the two of them continue mapping out Section Two.

~

Stiles is the one sitting on the chair while drawing today's Maze. Derek is standing behind him, giving him guidance when needed—but Stiles is very well-skilled by now, so he is hardly-ever in need of aid.

After what happened out there among the walls today, Stiles is hyper aware of Derek's presence, each of his movements, each of the sounds he makes, no matter how inaudible they are. Especially their arrangement is what he can't get out of his mind in the first place that they made when they got close to the outer Door at nearly the end of the day. His heart starts beating faster at the mere memory of that and his hand twitches once involuntarily, drawing a short line on the paper. He can feel as a puff of breath hits his ear, making it obvious for him that Derek has just laughed in his mind, knowing what the reason is behind that occurrence of drawing an extra line.

“Good,” Derek says, patting his back when Stiles is ready with the sketch. Stiles puts the paper away neatly before following Derek out of the Map Room where some of the Runners are still working, including Minho. “Go, take a shower,” is all he says, but Stiles can feel the unspoken words as well. He swallows and nods, then heads towards the Homestead. He needs extra attention to make his movements look natural to the other Gladers.

He bumps into Scott again, right after finishing his daily shower. He's too hyperactive by being excited, though, to talk right now. He wants to be at the arranged place as soon as possible. If anything, he doesn't want to waste even a _second_ he could spend with Derek, that's why he wouldn't mind going there earlier and having to wait for the other.

In the end he's the one being late.

Derek is already waiting for him behind the thorny bushes. He grins widely when he notices Stiles appear from among the vegetation. Stiles has been here only once before, and he wouldn't have thought his first time would occur in a place like this. He greets Derek with a shy wave of his hand, but once he's close enough, Derek grabs his hip with a hand and pulls him in close for a kiss.

When they part, Derek fishes out a set of keys from the pocket of his black track pants and turns his back to Stiles in sake of opening up the door of the Slammer. This is the only place they can be completely alone at, that's why they settled with it. While Derek is busy with the lock Stiles has the opportunity to roam his eyes over the other's body from top to toe that is now dressed in those pants, the usual black running shoes and a black muscle vest.

Once the door is open, Derek motions for Stiles to go in there first. He does as he was told, and while Derek shuts the door behind himself, Stiles takes his time to memorize the place. It has a single chair in it, nothing else, and said object has only three legs, making it uncomfortable to sit on it.

He doesn't have too much time to take in the sight, though, because Derek is already behind him, pushing him up against the closest wall while kissing and sucking on his neck. Stiles starts panting right that second he feels the other's lips playing with his skin, and he forces the words out of himself.

“What if someone came here?” Derek growls against the crook of his neck in a low tone before answering.

“No one comes here, only if he has a penalty,” he says, leaving another kiss on Stiles' throat. “We're alone, don't worry about it.”

And now they have enough time, too, so they don't need to stop themselves nor pay attention to the passing time. The Gladers are already asleep, so nobody will disturb them.

“Don't leave a mark, Derek,” Stiles gasps out when the guy bites him. “I should have known you were the biter type.” Derek snickers and trails his smooth lips up and down along Stiles' neck.

“Well, I didn't know it either,” he murmurs into Stiles' ear, his voice seductively low. His breath hitches on his trachea in the next second, though, because a hand is sliding dangerously low on his abs. He's already panting before Stiles would actually touch his bulge that re-formed under his pants. Both of Derek's hands are pushed against the wall to support himself somewhere, and Stiles turns around quickly to have a better angle to jack Derek off.

Without further thinking, he shoves his hand into Derek's pants and grabs him, it urging Derek to pant louder and faster. He keeps his eyes firmly connected to Stiles', while the kid is doing all the work, but the closer he gets to his climax the more his eyelid lowers on his eye. The simple thought of Stiles doing this would get him off easily, but it happening in reality appears to be a _way better_ idea. He's already at the edge, needing only a little push to fall apart—and when Stiles starts to do magic on his heated skin, that is almost beginning to sweat, with _that mouth_ of his, Derek has to tilt his head back and moan loudly. He starts thrusting into Stiles' palm, surging and searching for each of his movements, welcome them beforehand with an impatient grind. Stiles' jaw falls down, his darkened eyes covered halfway by the jungle of his amazing eyelashes while his gaze is darted downwards.

Derek has never seen anything more beautiful or attractive before.

With just one or two more moves, he whites out hard into Stiles' palm. His arms go weak and he leans towards the wall, against Stiles, his cheek resting on the other's shoulder while his mouth is pushed against the crook of his neck. All of his hot breaths are directed to Stiles' skin, which sends tingling chills over his body, making him shiver and Derek smile. He wraps his arms tightly around Stiles and nuzzles his cheek into the peachy pale skin, inhaling the other's scent with deep intakes of air, so it reaches the deepest depths of his lungs. He kisses the sensitive area under Stiles' ear, reaching for his hand and raising it in front of him to lick down the white mess from it. He locks their gazes together awhile, so he has a great view of how Stiles' cheeks turn pink before the color would deepen into a bright red as Derek sucks one of his fingers in and tightly wraps his lips around it, giving it a slow, firm pull. He lets go with a modest popping sound that makes Stiles shiver.

Stiles is literally shaking with anticipation by now, but when Derek reaches for his pants, he grabs his wrist to stop him. Derek gives him a confused look with one of his eyebrows arched. His mouth opens to ask a question, but Stiles speaks up first.

“Derek, wait. Stop. Don't...”

“Is there a problem?” Derek asks. He tries to pull his hand away, considering that is the best he could do right now. Stiles shakes his head in a frantic way, tightening his grip around the Keeper's wrist.

“No, I mean... I just... can you actually, like, you know...” He looks away, even the tip of his ears turned scarlet by now. Derek eyes him constantly, however, his face shows the fact he's slowly starting to get it. “fuck me?” Stiles says finally, making Derek's eyes widen and his heart rate pick up. Stiles organizes all the bravery he's got and braces himself with it before looking back at Derek. “I really want you inside,” he says. His voice turns into whispering at the last word.

Derek doesn't say anything apart from an impatient “I'll be back in a second”, leaving Stiles all alone in the Slammer. The teenager is confused.

~

Stiles doesn't want to make himself believe anything that won't happen, not willing to make himself upset unnecessarily. This is why, when Derek returns, Stiles is surprised to see a metal cup in the guy's hand. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, pointing at the brought object. He really can't come up with any witty ideas of an explanation.

“What's that thing for?” Derek snickers and presents him with an attractive half smile that makes Stiles' stomach twist and his inward butterflies fly frantically. He has to swallow hard for some unknown reason he can't put his finger on.

“Sorry for taking so long,” Derek says, avoiding to give an accurate answer. “but the kitchen is far from here, and I didn't want to wake anyone up. Did you know Frypan sleeps in the kitchen every night?” Stiles groans, his mind too numb to do as much as wonder what the other was doing in the kitchen.

“ _Derek_ ,” he says, obviously unable to wait for any longer. The other sighs briefly and nods.

“Alright, I know you're impatient.”

“Impatient? _Impatient?_ ” Stiles asks in a frustrated method. “I'm the shucking embodiment of impatience! Why did you think I'd be able to take all this, Derek, because I—” he's cut off by Derek placing his warm palm on Stiles' bulge. “—am” Stiles breaths out, practically starting a new sentence at this point. “feeling so good. It's so good, Derek, don't stop, oh my God.”

Derek chuckles into his ear.

“I should have known you were the vocal type.” Stiles would make a face at the phrase, but currently he's too busy with the overwhelming sensation of pleasure.

Stiles' back is pushed against the wall, one of his legs is wrapped around Derek's waist so he has more space to please Stiles. After a short amount of time his hand finds its way inside the teenager's pants. Instead of going for his dick, Derek settles with his entrance that quivers whenever the ghostly touch of his fingers slide along the hole. Stiles is whimpering softly and his fists are squeezing both of Derek's hard biceps that flexes and relaxes as he's moving his arms, adjusting to the amount of strength he has to express.

When an unknown, weird feeling sets in, Stiles gasps and cries out modestly—Derek's long finger found its way into him. At first Stiles is given one, but since he's quickly adjusting, another is added soon. Derek pauses temporarily, and with his fingers still buried into Stiles' deepest depths, he kneels down in front of the boy and rests one of his legs over his shoulder, then continues moving. Derek's movements are delicate in the beginning, however, Stiles' pretentious sounds urge him to enhance the speed. Also, thanks to his pleading, a third finger thrusts into Stiles, too.

The only thing Stiles can do right now is to push his hips towards Derek firmly, like there was a magnetic force between them, moving along with the rhythm Derek's fingers set, and this way giving the guy free and easy access to him. Stiles' scalp hits the concrete wall, but he couldn't care less about it. He keeps his head resting there, while his grip keeps tightening and releasing constantly on Derek's free shoulder and in his hair. He's whispering Derek's name permanently.

Even the Keeper is panting as well, simply by watching Stiles as he's slowly but surely falling apart right in front of him. He's imagined this several times before, thinking he'd give anything to see it, but he has to realize that actually seeing Stiles in this state is simply _priceless_.

He leans up a little bit to place a kiss on Stiles' lower abs, this way also opening him up more, since the leg is still resting on his shoulder.

When Stiles starts a consecutive chant of moans, Derek mutters a “shuck it” under his breath, his voice full of lust. He wants to hear Stiles say _his name_ like a mantra, to beg for more and to come with him inside. So he pulls his fingers out and backs off a little after setting Stiles back on his legs, making sure he'll stay stood on his own.

Derek reaches for the metal cup he brought with himself a while ago. Stiles realizes what the common sense is behind having that here now—Derek's fingers are covered in a glittery, high-viscosity substance which he uses to cover his own cock with, making it slippery. Stiles now knows what was used while opening him up, too—oil from Frypan's kitchen.

For the time being, Stiles gets rid of his restraints, stripping off from his light gray pants after kicking off his running shoes. Derek takes in his sight with a smirk before stepping back into Stiles' sphere. With the boy's voluntary help, Derek can easily lift his body up and pin it against the wall. Stiles immediately closes his legs around Derek's waist, making sure he'll stay where he is and won't slip lower.

Then Derek's tip presses against him and he sucks in a big breath, keeping the air in his lungs after. He's looking downwards, but Derek murmurs to him.

“Stiles, look at me,” he says in a low, yet soft tone, and Stiles obeys. Their gazes are locked together, only losing contact and closing when Derek bridges the distance between their mouths and plants a kiss on Stiles' lips. It's soothing and calm, not impatient the least. Before Stiles would realize, Derek's tip is already inside him. He hiccups by the dull pain, but Derek swallows all of his sounds, practically forcing him to concentrate on their kiss, not on the feeling that makes him uncomfortable.

Using this method, Derek easily fits all the way in, and it takes less than a minute. Stiles is amazingly receptive for him, not to mention how perfectly tight and warm around him.

“Move, Derek, please,” Stiles begs in a dry voice, and that is Derek's cue to begin thrusting. Stiles wraps his arms around his neck and holds him close, his legs tightening around Derek's lower areas.

Derek mumbles out a litany of filth as he's fastening up. Stiles isn't complaining about it, moreover, he's making needy whining crying sounds in the back of his throat, assuring Derek he's pleased as well. The Keeper lifts his T-shirt during moving, not losing the rhythm even for a second, and leans down to pepper kisses all over his chest and to teasingly play around a little with each of his nipples for a while. Though, after a while he slows down the pace, only to earn a faint and weak chide from Stiles in return, along with a question.

“Why'd you stop?” he manages out. “Move, or I swear to God I'll—”

The rest of his sentence flows back into him when Derek suddenly hits his prostate. He tilts his head back, hitting his head painfully into the wall again, but the pleasure is way bigger than that sensation to actually take notice of it.

From then on, Derek is constantly hitting that certain sensitive spot of his, bringing him closer and closer to the edge eventually. Thanks to Derek's restless movements and relentless sweet assault of kisses against his shoulder, neck, cheek, lips and basically any area of skin he can reach, Stiles whites out.

It doesn't take much more time for Derek to cum either, because Stiles' insides go even tighter around him.

After their orgasm none of them moves, they stay in the position they currently are in. Both of them are breathing rapidly by exhaustion, the whole surface of their skin is damp and covered in sweat. Derek chuckles and covers Stiles' whole neck in gentle kisses.

~

They secretly borrow some things from the Sloppers to clean up the mess they left in the Slammer, then after returning the materials the two of them approach the Deadheads. Stiles leads Derek to his favorite place which is where he usually has a chat with Scott—the South West corner of the Glade.

Derek sits down at the base of the tree closest to where the two stone walls meet each other with his back leaning against the wide bole, then opens his arms, awaiting for Stiles, who stretches before submissively taking his rightful place in Derek's lap. He curls into a ball and nuzzles his cheek against Derek's chest, while the other wraps his muscled arms around him, creating a tight and protective, maybe even a slightly possessive embrace by this. Stiles idly starts doodling imaginary circles on the broad chest he's lying against and Derek is merely watching him with a gentle hint of smile on his face. After a while he places a long kiss on Stiles' forehead.

The silence feels good to them at the moment. However, Stiles looks up at Derek when they've been sitting there for fifteen or so minutes.

“I've been wondering,” he starts, and one of Derek's brow arches, urging the teenager to go on talking. “How did you fell for _me_ of all people?” The edges of Derek's lips curl upwards, forming a smile.

“That's easy,” Derek says, only to earn a confused look from Stiles. He snickers, then kisses the adorable, lightly upturned nose. “You were like a breath of fresh air compared to the others. I've been keeping an eye on you ever since I spotted you wandering around with Scott,” he shrugs.

“Ah,” is all Stiles says, showing the other he got it. Also, this explains how Derek knew about his hyperactivity. There is another thing bugging him now that he heard that answer, though. “What makes me so special?” Derek thinks for a handful of seconds.

“Your attitude. You're witty and obviously not an ordinary person. You got my attention and I was curious about you. I wanted to know you better, that's why I was looking forward to have a day alone with you in the Maze in the first place. It wasn't a letdown compared to my expectations, it was just as good as I'd imagined it, if not better. Then I realized you had all the traits to be a great Runner, which I was lucky for. I knew this will be the perfect excuse for me to spend as much time with you as possible. I didn't expect it to turn out like this, though. I didn't want to make you feel bad,” he gives Stiles an apologetic look, but the boy just asks another question.

“How do you know that I'm _the One_?”

“I've been here for two years. All this time the world was black and white for me, but after you arrived everything changed. It's like I got a personal rainbow or somethin',” he says. “I listened to you talking to Scott and Isaac during dinner, or I met you at the showers, and my mood was suddenly changed, I got happier and I felt like I actually have a _life_.”

That's enough for Stiles. He only wanted to know he's loved, and he's loved for a reason—he's sure now that Derek loves him for who he is, and didn't act just to experience what it feels like to have sex with someone.

Stiles closes his eyes and kisses Derek's collarbone before squirming a little to make himself comfortable. He rests his forehead against the crook of Derek's neck. He's lulled asleep by the sounds of their breathing and Derek's beating heart.

 

**Friday**

In the early morning Derek wakes Stiles with a kiss on his cheek. The air is still half dark around them, creating a soothing cover for them. Stiles groans and rubs his eyes lazily. He looks up at Derek before turning around and aggressively nuzzling his cheek into his chest, stubbornly refusing to wake up.

“Come on, Stiles, we need to get up,” Derek whispers into his ear. His voice can't hide the fact he's smiling and somehow enjoying this way too much.

“How can you be awake so early?”

“You know, when you do something for two years, your body just adjusts.”

“You're such an early bird,” Stiles points out in a raspy, sleepy voice. Derek snickers and keeps murmuring for him to at least put him into a sitting position.

“Come on, baby, your coffee's awaiting you.” Stiles makes a face at him which he means to be pissed and wants to reflect the question 'are you for real', but his morning sleepiness ruins it for him and Derek only finds it hilarious.

“I'm pretty sure you wanted to say _my_ coffee's awaiting _you_ ,” Stiles says while pushing himself up. Since he's no longer lying on Derek, he stands up, too.

They stumble out of the Deadheads and head to the kitchen, where Frypan and the other Cookers are already doing their jobs. The near area of their territory smells of delicious breakfast.

Not long after their arrival, other Runners join them. Minho sits next to Derek to talk about the Maze. They often do this, to try to figure something out, to try to find a solution for the changing walls those surround and protect them. Their priority is still getting out of there after all.

In the end Stiles takes a total of two shots from his coffee before finishing the food. Minho left a while ago, and the others are sitting at haphazard places, none of them in hearing distance. Derek stands up and steps behind Stiles, leaning over him to grab the coffee, however, unlike previous times, now he whispers into Stiles' ear.

“I envy the cup of coffee that gets to kiss your sleepy lips awake every cold and bitter morning.” Stiles' cheeks turn pink, and it surprises him so much his body stiffens, allowing an easy way for Derek to steal the steaming coffee.

They pack their lunch, then approach the North Door that leads to Section Two. The other Runner is not there yet—he only arrives just a few moments before the gates open up. When that happens, they take off into the familiar paths, then in a matter of minutes, reaching the rearranged corridors of the Maze.

Once they are alone, Derek grabs Stiles' hand and they run together like that, only letting go of each other when one of them notices a difference compared to yesterday and takes a note about it.

During lunch, they sit close to each other—with Derek leaning his shoulder blades against the soft ivies and the rest of his body lying crossed the corridor, while Stiles is resting his head on Derek's abs, both of them eating in a hurry, yet trying to make it somehow intimate. They know exactly this is the only time they can spend together in solitary, when no one is going to disturb them, but the paradox in it is that they don't have any time for _each other_. They still have their job to do, which is the most important out of all the ones around the Glade—to find an exit for everyone.

When they reach the last dead end, they quickly hurry back to the safe haven before the Doors would close. Today they come first, eleven minutes before the closing.

While drawing the sketch, the rest of the Runners arrive and seize their places at the table as well.

The two of them go to take a shower afterwards, then go to have dinner. This time Stiles goes to sit with Scott and Isaac to talk to them, because yesterday he practically waved them off when they neared him to try to chat with him, and he felt uneasy about that. He apologizes for that behavior before anything else, then the subject is changed to tell the tale of their day.

Following that, Derek and Stiles leave the kitchen with a little time difference, since they don't want anyone to know about their relationship. Derek is the first one to leave, then Stiles, who killed the time by talking to his friends. Isaac still calls him Greenbean.

They go to the Deadheads again so they can sleep with each other without disturbance.

 

**Saturday**

Today the mood is kind of heavy for them in the Maze—and even holding hands isn't helpful to perish that. They both know that sooner or later Derek will have to announce at last that Stiles' training ended and he's a rightful Runner from now on, with an own Section that he maps out _alone_.

When they arrive to the very last dead end, this subject becomes impossible to avoid and bubbles up, knowing they talk it through now, while running back to the Glade, or never. And now is better than never.

“Soon I'll have to let you go alone,” Derek says, his voice quiet and his words hardly understandable through his exhausted panting. Stiles glances at him from the corner of his eye. He doesn't ask what he's talking about—he knows it very well. Instead, he settles with another important question.

“How can we keep meeting?” Derek is silent for a while, only their rapid breathing and rushing footsteps can be heard between the walls.

“I don't know. I've been thinking that maybe we could finish earlier with mapping out then meet near the Door that's out in the Maze, but I know we couldn't manage that. We hardly do it in a day, but you know that well.”

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes out tiredly. Quietness sets in in the conversation, but when they approach the outer Door, that is out in the Maze, Derek halts and grabs Stiles' arm to stop him, too.

“We'll figure something out. Promise.” Stiles smiles at him.

“Promise.”

Derek leans in and kisses Stiles, not minding the passing time, just allowing himself to kiss his loved one patiently, delicately, exactly the way they like it, making sure the passion he feels toward the other floats through and will become obvious for Stiles as well, the honest message delivered by the kiss.

 

**Epilogue**

“Didn't you know?” Scott asks during dinner. Stiles shakes his head. Of course he doesn't know anything about a newbie's arrival, he spent his whole day out in the Maze after all. His mind is still spinning with today's subject—the issue he and Derek still need to find a solution for, which is to find a way to keep meeting. “Well, good news for you, because Isaac will no longer call you Greenie.”

Stiles can't help but chuckle at that briefly.

“What's his _name_ , though?” he asks, taking another bite from his food.

Scott thinks for a short while.

“Oh, I remember. His name's Thomas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank You so much for reading! You're beautiful and I love you for reading this whole thing.
> 
> I really hope you all guys enjoyed this! I loved writing it and I was so excited about this story.
> 
> Writing it was like being in the Maze, being part of the life that's going on on the Glade and thus, being a Glader myself, strange as it sounds. I know I got into details a lot of times (maybe too much times even), but I wanted to make this the best. I wrote it wholeheartedly to make it enjoyable and as perfect as I can. (In one of my comments I also mentioned that this will contain around 40,000 words, but it turned out less. The reason is that I thought it will be for all the readers' good. I mean, I'm sure no one wanted to read Stiles' week that he spent trying out the jobs in a _detailed_ way. I think the importance of this story is the Sterek relationship, and in the first part Derek isn't even mentioned yet, so.) I would also like to point out now that I ended my writing at Thomas' arrival because from then on everyone knows the story.
> 
> I had already had the whole plot idea for this one even before finishing _Written in the stars_. I didn't want to start writing this while still working on that story, but I did (I wrote the prologue while I was merely approximately two or three chapters in).
> 
> I'm really glad it's done, though, I even re-read the book just to jog my memory about how life works at the Glade and to collect all the original self-made words those were used by the Gladers.
> 
> I didn't want to spoiler anyone who hasn't read the book yet, and I think I made a good job with it. I only wrote down what was ultimately necessary for this fic, and I believe I didn't share anything that would prevent or make anyone to decide not to read the original series, which is, trust me, _awesome, and is the best I've ever read in my life_. (That's why I had to write a crossover fanfic with my favourite trilogy and TV show.) I really hope that those who are unfamiliar with the trilogy will read it after reading this fanfiction. I also hope I managed to wake your curiosity toward Dashner's books. (Call it a teaser maybe?)
> 
> You know, for a bestseller, you need a mystery, a good plot, interesting storyline, a way to work out your idea well (talking about author style), lovable characters, some more common questions about existing real-life problems just to pepper the whole thing, and, the most important ingredient: patience. And James Dashner really has all these in his books. Once you start reading, I can assure you you won't rest until you read the very last line of Death Cure.
> 
> Summing up, I really put my heart and soul into this. I really hope it was worth all the work.
> 
> Also, if anyone wondered what the switchblade looks like that Derek gave to Stiles, here's a link to the knife: [Stiles' token](http://www.texasautoknives.com/46-thickbox_default/omni-tac-special-ops-automatic-knife.jpg).
> 
> °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°  
> *pops confetti*


End file.
